60 years of marriage doesn’t happen by mistake or happenstance.
I walked in their door same as every time. Rote muscle memory down to the smell.
But this times tears were streaming down, mascara running and my face was splotchy from crying so hard.
My marriage is in a rough spot and its no secret or shame. Neither one of us have done anything wrong, but two very different people chose each other, and now there are growing pains.
To get to the end, 60 years later clutching a fragile tough grand daughter…you have to go thru a little hell first. And right now I’m in the latter.
I walked in the door face red and embarrassed (I don’t get to visit often and this was my grand entrance. Head held low.
And gramma and I go back and forth for a while, and then gramps in his slow southern way proclaims
“I don’t know why you two are talking so much, there’s only one solution.”
Translation: hang on, hands up, and pray.
Have I mentioned how much I love them.
I walked to the car extra luggage, quilt in tow, head held high.
Ready to fight for my marriage, ready to thrive.
I’ve got God on my side.
And in that home up north I know so well, everything I’ve been pouring out and drained was poured back into me and my broken self.
And being in the presence of 60 years of old love was exactly what I needed. Hearing, “quit talking, there’s only one solution” was exactly what I needed in my hard marriage to a good man.