The Heart Dictates; The Hand Obeys: Or, Why I Did It

Dear Imaginary Reader,

You might be wondering why. You might be puzzling over why two people with the passive laissez-faire approach to relationships would take a definitive step like marriage. You might be wondering, as Charles Bukowski did, "Do you want to screw up the works?"

Or, as one of my best friends said: "Are you SURE?"

It is difficult, when you are over a Certain Age to justify a step like marriage. You have your own careers. You have your own interests. You have your own checkbooks. You have your own houses. You have your own children. You each  have your own histories, complete with Creation, Evolution, Ice Ages, Dark Ages, Renaissances, Industrial Ages; Wars, Marshall Plans and Cold Wars. It would take more than Howard Zinn to bring this all together in one tidy package successfully.

And yet, the idea that "we" have been a couple for 13 years also brings about the idea of laziness or recumbency or even fear. And, of course, Guilt:

When you have lived through a history of your own, sometimes you bear the scars, personally, financially, or on your progeny of the Marriage That Came Before. You don't want to make the same mistakes, you don't want to repeat the past; you see people come together and uncouple with acrimony or apathy and you think: Really? That's all? You didn't even put your back into that.

But you know from experience that some things can't be made whole when they didn't fit together well in the first place. Once your marriage has collapsed, you are gun-shy of making a new situation where That could happen again. The guilt over coulda-woulda-shoulda is a three-headed Cerebus that guards the gate to your heart, disallowing entry to anyone, even yourself. You find an easy prison  in Safety and Solitary and stowing your baggage under your seat instead of checking it. Hanging On when you should be Letting Go.

After 13 years together, we have been through some things. I was there when he had major medical traumas: sitting with him, holding his hand in the ER while a doctor amputated part of his finger, seeing him through colds and the flu and all those tests where you need someone to drive you home.  And he was there, when I had foot surgery, washing my hair, driving me to work, doing the heavy lifting.We were together at funerals and weddings, at parties and wakes. We've seen friends have babies and become grandparents, get promoted and die of cancer. He's supported me as a writer, and given me space I need. I've tried to let him yoke up every morning to his shop and his customers and hoe his rows, even if that means he's at work until 11 pm.

So we've gone on this way for a decade: tolerating each other's foibles, sharing each other's joys, comforting each other in sorrow. Of the question of love, there is no doubt. Of commitment, well that was the issue all along. Neither of us was ready to take that last step. It felt like running off a cliff, like we would be falling, falling, out of control, and it seemed in the long run, to be too costly. The goodwill we'd built up among our children, the separate-but-equal financial status, the extra house that I could always return to if need be. Were we really ready to leave all those safety nets behind?

I guess we were.     I guess we are.

Neither one of us could fathom our lives without each other. The "proposal" came one night when he turned to me and said:" You planning on going anywhere? Because I'm not. Not without you." And that was that. After all that talking about the pros and cons, after all the Help Wanted Education ads in the Sunday NY Times, after all the trolling for beach houses in Charleston, that was it. And it's been like a door opened up. Instead of feeling trapped, like I thought I would, I feel like I've finally found a place where I can forget all the failures and guilt, and just be happy. Am I sure? Yes.

So instead of anxiety, there is a feeling of contentment. Instead of falling, we get to the edge of the cliff and we can float. It feels like we are adults in our own right, not simply someone's parent or -ex. It is lovely. It is freeing. It is .... love.

So last February, at the Village Hall, the Mayor said a few words. We exchanged rings & vows with a small group of family members. Then, we all went out to lunch. Afterward, we stood at the threshold,a threshold we've shared for 7 years,  a threshold that nobody is going to be carried over. We'll walk through that doorway together, face whatever comes together.


Here's a poem, DIR. If Raymond Carver could wax poetic about love, well, that's a threshold in itself.

Late Fragment

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.