History of a Marriage - Part I

I was having one of those “we can’t say enough” conversations with my oldest son the other night, and we were philosophizing as to how amazing it is that our lives have turned out nothing like we had ever pictured them. The thought just won’t leave my head-I wake up in the morning thinking about it.

He was wistful at the fact that he loves children so much…and yet, is turning 36 this yr., with no prospect of marriage and seriously doubting that he will ever be a father. (What a pity-he really would be an awesome one!) He was pondering the fact that he was/is so much the father-figure in our home and if perhaps that’s why.

And then there is me and my life. My main ambition from childhood on (remember I grew up in the 50’s and 60’s), was to be nothing more than a wife and mother. I figured I’d have about 4 children, live in a nice home with a white picket fence, and be adored my husband. I would be the closest thing to June Cleaver anyone could possibly imagine. I would marry a doctor, have plenty of money and my children would call me blessed. My home would be neat, clean and beautiful. I would cook wonderful meals. I would always be thin and attractive. Ours would be a home of love and righteousness. And, when my children grew up, they would all come over for Sunday dinner with my grandchildren. We would spend every holiday together-gathered around my table, heavy-laden with delicious dishes as one big, happy family.

Well, my dreams started out well enough. I married my high school sweetheart, who had a four year presidential scholarship to BYU and ambitions of becoming a doctor. I had a one year scholarship-and we seemed to all to be the perfect couple. The talents I lacked, he had-and vice versa. I couldn’t imagine how intelligent and well-rounded our children would be. Then, Viet Nam happened. I honestly don’t know how much “blame” can be laid at that doorstep. Although he wasn’t in front line combat, he was definitely a different person when he came home. Add to that the fact that I was 8 months pregnant with our first child when he went into basic training and 13 months later, the second child, (sml), was born. Twelve months later, number 3 came along. Here we were trying to adjust to each other, him returning from a war zone and being the parents of three babies together. He couldn’t handle it, so he escaped into church work and scouting, a pattern he would follow for the next 19 yrs.-until our divorce. He still escapes into church work. As my seventh wise child says, “It keeps him unhappily alive.”

After three yrs. of army we returned to BYU, where he worked very hard and got excellent grades at the same time he was in the Bishopric and graduate school. Oh, I remember all the people who told me how lucky I was to be married to such a wonderful man. And how well I remember the pain of not being able to tell anyone that this pillar in the church was, as an LDS counselor later told me, “Nothing but a whited sepulcher-who looked so good on the outside, but full of nothing but dead man’s bones”.

Two and a half yrs. after child no. 3, no. 4 was born. I had my hands full. My husband was in school all day, came home to eat and change clothes and then would go to the church until about 11:00 each night. I had no car…just ate, slept and drank children. I remember one night telling him that I needed something more. I needed something to look forward to or to feel like I was accomplishing something and he answered, “Tough. This is what God wants you to be. So be happy with it.” Two yrs. later we had our second son and child no. 5. Finally, another boy, and we were thrilled. But, shockingly, he died of crib death 7 wks. later. Luckily for us, our marriage was strong during that experience. And, I have never felt such Heavenly comfort. It is unexplainable. I was unable to write about it, even in my journal. Then, two yrs. later, I awoke in the middle of the night with a poem in my head and I turned on the light and began writing. I hesitate to share it because I know it is not poetically or grammatically correct. But, it is mine, and here it is:
THE VISITORS

Death came last night.
And, like a thief, stealthily
Stole our child’s spirit
From us.

Grief came this morning.
But, like a visitor in a
Foreign land, could not
Stay long-he did not speak
Our language.

Peace visited today.
The joy of her presence is
Inexpressible; and although
She cannot stay forever-
Her brand upon our hearts will.

Joy lives here now.
We make her welcome, for
She assures us that he still lives
Beyond the envying of this life.

And we now know that
Very soon he will smile,
We will cuddle, and his
Tiny fingers will again grasp ours
And lead us into Eternity.

Aka Madre