The Second Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary
Upon the passing of a loved one, it is hard to believe that the world still spins on its axis and the sun rises in the morning.
The world continued as it always does, and was not the least bit aware that 50 years ago, Hubby and I had joined our lives in marriage under a chuppah according to Jewish tradition.
This was actually our second wedding to one another. The first took place two weeks before, in a judge’s chambers. My father was unwilling to wait the extra two weeks for the “proper” ceremony if, in fact, Hubby and I insisted on living together prior to that date – he wanted us legally married first. Everything needed to be “kosher,” but perhaps Dad was just guaranteeing that our very short courtship became legal somewhere before he committed to the country club, the Rabbi and all the accompanying arrangements. One can hardly blame him. Hubby proposed marriage 24 hours after we met, and I accepted. It was a shock that my parents had to absorb in the six weeks which followed between the proposal and the sanctification of our love.
This was a day which “me, myself, and I,” would need to face on “our” own. The world has moved on. Still, it seemed a very special moment that I should not let fall between my fingers like the sands of time. It was certainly one which would never repeat again. It would not be possible for me to be married to any other human being for 50 years. How might I remember Hubby on this day?
Invited to the home of close friends, I decided that something “bubbly” was in order. I would make a toast before dinner to the man with whom I had shared my life for 50 years.
Then, serious wardrobe decisions had to be made. I chose to dress for this anniversary with the respect it deserved. I would wear only the jewelry which Hubby had given me, items steeped in memories. As I placed each piece on my neck, wrists, fingers, I gave myself the time to savor the memory of when they were given, selected, cherished.
In preparation for a Zoom lecture that I gave for Israel’s Melabev organization, which helps the families and individuals dealing with Alzheimer’s and other forms of dementia, it was suggested that I might prepare another lecture about “how to mourn.” Perhaps it was that suggestion which helped me to focus on the details of this special day. A half-century anniversary for one-half of a couple.
I am certainly not an expert on the mourning process. It is different for each of us, depending on impact of the specific relationship on our life. My mourning for my stillborn child, after my mother’s death from lung cancer, upon my father’s passing quickly from a heart attack, and for that of my husband after 50 years of marriage, with 15 years of cancers and dementia, were all very different experiences, with different insights gained along the way. I am not sure how one addresses “mourning” in general, when there are so many factors which impact on the grief, loneliness, guilt (we all have some, don’t we?), in the days which follow the death of a loved one.
The dinner at our friend’s home was very special. Good friends, truly delicious food, and even more amazing conversations. The toast was made, bubbly poured, and at that moment, all seemed as it should be in the universe.
Returning home, I opened my cellphone to look at some short videos of Hubby which were taken in recent months. In all of them, he is singing along with Frank Sinatra. They remind me of his joie-de-vivre, his love of life. His joy while singing and tapping out the beat on the dining room table made me smile. If we can love our lives until the very last moments, there is every reason to celebrate, and less reason for sadness.
I wished Hubby a happy anniversary, and snuggled under my delicious pink, fuzzy blanket. It is time for dreams about the many tomorrows to come. There is not a minute to waste, when we finally accept that this gift of life which we have been blessed to experience has a beginning, a middle, and an end for us all. I never appreciated this truth as much as I did at that moment.
Anniversaries are for two people to share, and Hubby was very present at ours today. Tomorrow is a new day; the sun will rise again and there is value in appreciating that each and every passing moment is one less than I will have in the future. Something essential, upon which, each of us might want to reflect.
