45 Years!

 

I married the love of my life 45-years ago on December 28, 1975 and it has been a wild and wonderful ride.

 

Although we went to the same high school, we never REALLY met there (okay, I punched him one time when he was a hall monitor and attempted to stop me from going to my classroom after the “switch” was over); we actually MET a few years later as volunteers in the NYC Auxiliary Police. I was already a member of our unit when he signed up and, as Personnel Officer, I had to interview him. He passed and was admitted into our unit… but neither of us liked each other, lol.

 

However, as time went on we did eventually go out on a date and we both seemed to enjoy each other’s company… he asked me out for the following weekend. Within two weeks, he proposed, I said NO (not because I didn’t like him, I just didn’t think I was ready) — he was “persistent” and the following morning we announced our engagement. Then I went away for eight weeks to work at a summer stock theatre, he drove up to visit me several times.

 

By the time I returned home everyone wanted to know if we had set a date, we hadn’t yet. On December 28, 1974 we attended a formal ceremony for my Dad at the local J.W.V. chapter, they were honoring him for his community service as the local Auxiliary Police Captain as well as his WW2 service in the Army Corps of Engineers. While there, once again Mark and I received a multitude of questions about the date of our wedding until we both just looked at each other, smiled, and responded “One year from today”.

 

We did start discussing what kind of wedding we wanted, I was all for a small Rabbi’s study with just our immediate families present. Although Mark was easy going, his father and one of my aunt’s made it difficult to plan something intimate. We wound up compromising on a guest list of 90 (approximately 80 showed), both of his folks were pleased, the aunt made arguments right up to the wedding (and no, she was not paying for it!).

 

The day of the wedding was… memorable to say the least. My mom was totally stressed dealing with the intrusive aunt, on the way to the catering hall my sister (my Matron-of-Honor) fell down a flight of stairs and we thought she had broken her leg; trooper that she is, she managed to pull herself together and promised to be able to “hobble down the aisle” for her little sister, and I hadn’t been able to reach Mark (before the era of cellphones) and we arrived so late that he had almost  given up waiting.

 

Everything was finally underway! We posed for an array of photos, and then the ceremony began. We were married!!!!! Then… my poor Mom, a diabetic, had a serious low-blood sugar reaction to all the stress and upset about my sister’s tumble and she wound up spending the majority of party time lying down in the bridal suite while my Dad took juices to her; she wouldn’t leave and go to the hospital. Finally, the end of the party came, my mom was able to be present for the latter half of the party and in time to see me throw my bouquet and leave with my new husband.

 

Maybe we should have realized that our wedding day was a forecast of our marriage with all of our ups and downs, but in the end we drove off TOGETHER excited about our new life. We weathered crazy downstairs neighbors, the deaths of all four parents (in a five year period), a few miscarriages, buying a house, the birth of our daughter, the preemie birth of our son, ups and down in jobs and finances, seeing both of our children grow into phenomenal adults and (after a few false starts) settle down in their own homes with loves that are terrific people, we survived a serious illness, and finally a retirement and move to a beautiful home not far from where we actually honeymooned.

 

In 45-years our love has grown, been tested, and shined even brighter with each new day. I am so glad that he was persistent on the night he proposed — I couldn’t imagine any other life.

I love you, Mark, now and for eternity.

.

 

Have a good life ~ #MondayBlogs

Pain and grief are personal.

No two people will feel the same pain. For nearly 30-years as a NYS EMT I always asked my patients, as we were all trained to do, "on a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst pain you ever felt, how bad is your pain?"

The real truth is that one person's "6" may be another person's "10" while someone's "8" barely gets a "2" elsewhere. It doesn't matter, it's all PAIN. As 1st responders we needed to know how the patient was managing the pain, was it getting worse or was it (hopefully) getting better?

It's the same with emotional pain, how we deal with it is individual. Two widows after losing their mates of many years will react differently and neither way is wrong or right. The same goes for other personal tragedies and losses, we all have to find our own ways to cope.

For some people the return to "normal" life takes longer than others, and for some the return never seems to happen. Is it wrong for a young mother to still cry years after a miscarriage, even when she has other children? Or for a man in his 50's to be angry after being hustled out of a long time job he's held for years? 

Human reactions are just that... human - and they are personal.

Somewhere down the line though we do need to regain some living potential again no matter how deep the wounds are. We need to allow ourselves the chance to heal even if it means we never lose our scars. Yes, there are people around us that need us to LIVE again, but we owe it to ourselves not to waste away.

A good friend of mine likes to say "Just put one foot in front of the other..." Healing is a process and no one expects you to ignore the wound or the scars it leaves. But if you let bitterness consume you or never stop crying, think of how much you will continue to lose.

It is so much harder than just these words, but somehow you have to find a way of focusing on what you still have whether they are memories or other loved ones. Whatever is in your past has made you who you are today and who you are is important, don't throw it away.

When I feel down and mourn loved ones no longer here (physically) I remind myself of the 5 of Cups Tarot Card and realize that I need to focus on the positives in my life. 

When my paternal grandfather died and I saw my dad crying I swore to him that I never wanted to grow up because growing up meant people got old and died. After laughing and calling me Peter Pan, he told me that yes, people do die but he was very glad to have grown up, met my mom and had my sister and me. He made me see that life is always giving us new things and we should never ignore the new joys. Years later I miss my parents very much, but I take such joy in my own husband and children. Daddy was right, I would never want to miss out on the life I have now.

I've been told that I have a Pollyanna outlook on life and that I am always looking for the bright side. In reality, I just want to live.

"I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me
and 90% of how I react to it."
~ Charles R. Swindoll 

The Five of Cups is a Tarot card that signifies difficulty, loss, and the challenges of dealing with that loss. The figure in the card wears a black cloak in which he hides his face in apparent despair. At his feet are five cups, three of which have fallen and spilled onto the ground and the other two behind his back remain standing. He does not seem to notice these upstanding cups because he is so focused on the fallen cups instead. Ahead of him a powerful river flows between himself and a castle or home in the distance. To his right is a bridge that can lead him to the security of the house across the river. Despite the fact that this card has a strong indication of loss and tribulation, there is a positive aspect that must be considered. Is your cup half full or half empty?