My parents got married a little over 50 years ago, in a very small wedding held in the home of a friend, with just close family and a few friends attending. Mom was 20 years old and still in college, Dad was 23 and a recent graduate. They loved each other, but neither of them really knew what they were doing.
They didn’t learn a lot about communicating from their parents. Mom’s parents divorced when she was in high school, and Dad’s parents, while they had a stable marriage, were of Northern European stock known for reservedness and reticence.
A couple of years after the wedding my sister appeared on the scene, and five years later I did too. Mom and Dad were loving, responsible parents who made time for us kids and raised us in a stable home with lots of good family memories. But they still didn’t know how to talk to each other.
If there was any discord, my sister and I were oblivious, acknowledging their anniversary every year with homemade cards or flowers. For me, the accumulation of years meant little; I was much more focused on my own birthdays and milestones. My parents accrued another year of marriage every spring — why wouldn’t they?
It wasn’t until I was in my 20s that the accumulated strain of over 25 years of miscommunication, unbuffered by having kids at home, started showing. They considered divorce. I don’t know how many times or how close they actually came over the following decade, but it was more than once.
I couldn’t let myself believe it would actually happen. Mom and Dad had always been there, together. For my own self-centered reasons I hoped and prayed they would find some way to stay together. And somehow, they did.
And here’s where the tiny miracle comes in. Over the past 15 years, despite hurt feelings, generations of family history against them and feeling way outside their comfort zone, my parents, with some help, learned to talk to each other. And along the way discovered a renewed tenderness, love and deep respect for the person on the other side of the breakfast table, flaws and all.
This year the anniversary clock hit 50 years. Let me say that again — 50 years. I’m a bit embarrassed to say that this is the first year that I’ve really stopped to think what that means.
Nobody tells you when you get married that it won’t always be easy. And if they do tell you, you don’t believe them. To know that my parents stayed committed to each other for 50 years, and that they stuck it out through some very tough times, is both humbling and inspiring.
In Anna Quindlen’s book, “One True Thing
“'No one knows what goes on inside a marriage.’ I read that once; the aphorism ended ‘except for the two people who are in it.’ But I suspect that even that is not the truth ...”
Perhaps that’s true — perhaps even couples who stay together for 50 years can’t even say quite how they did it. But that two people can stay together and grow together for a half a century — that’s an accomplishment.
Happy 50th Anniversary, Mom and Dad
