what marriage means to me
If you step back and consider the idea of marriage, it seems a bit crazy: two people promising to love only each other until one of them dies (of preferably natural causes). Some people consider this concept out-dated, impossible, or, with the current divorce rates, even idiotic. But in defense of marriage, I dare say the most difficult, idiotic tasks are the ones with the biggest pay-outs (take parenting, for example: what's more stupid than volunteering to clean poop off of another human being, and then feeding, clothing, transporting and educating them for 18 years––all for FREE?). So while I would never try to talk someone into getting married (I'd hate to feel responsible for someone else's commitment), in light of Greg and my impending anniversary, I'd like to try to explain what my marriage means to me. And in doing so, I will try to refer to it as "our" marriage, a tactical error I've been prone to make ever since, after being pronounced husband and wife and exiting the sanctuary, I shoved Greg out of the way and exclaimed, "Hey everyone, I'm married!!" (My marriage, my house...your child is throwing up. You understand.)
Growing up I had the indulgence of witnessing my parents' stable marriage, so because of that, I have never associated marriage as a risk, a fight, or a trap. I do, however, remember thinking, after watching my grandma physically take care of my grandpa for as long as I knew him (he became a quadriplegic before I was born) that if I promised till death to we do part to anyone, that it could include a lot of unexpected pain. But for one reason or another I never doubted that Greg was the one for me. I always figured that if I were to hitch my cart so someone's horse (Greg being the horse in this scenario) I couldn't do better than a one Mr. Greg Schemper. But, I still felt the weight of the decision we were making, and I've had brief moments of questioning if I should have just stayed single, but thankfully never for longer than it took me to drive aimlessly around for a while, and ultimately return back to our home.
I think the thing I was most looking forward to in marriage was not having to say goodbye to this one person (for hopefully a long time). Life is about hellos and goodbyes, and I've had to part with dear friends and family my whole life, but this would be the one person I wouldn't have to move away from. Of course, after a particularly bad day, imagine my surprise that this was the one person from whom I can't move away (thus the car rides by myself, though in all honesty I can only think of two times I've done this).
They say that the first year of marriage is either super-easy or super-hard. If these are my choices, I'd have to say it was super-hard, though realistically, it was more in the middle. Mostly because I was unemployed, in a strange town where I knew no one, and I was suddenly living with a work-a-lot teacher who was so used to saying "yes" to everyone but me, but who somehow strangely enough, never quite learned how to argue. So, needless to say, we maneuvered our way around expectations, familial differences, and home/life balance most of that first year, and Greg picked up the art of the argument rather swiftly.
Fast forward fifteen years, and while we have gotten used to each other's nuanced moods, quirks, and dare I say come to predict the other's idiosicricies, somehow Greg continues to say or do things that will surprise me. Take, for example, the other day. I have a practice of setting Christmas pictures aside so that in January I can re-do the picture side of our fridge. Well, imagine my surprise when I came home to find the DeBlecourts front and center on the front of our fridge! Greg said, "Why wouldn't we want our dear friends the DeBlecourts on our fridge?!" (Of course I do, Emily, but you see there are certain procedures and protocols in place that Greg seems to be unaware of!) And then he went on to say that he really wants to have our siblings' pictures up in our home. I said in disbelief, "You're telling me you want a framed picture of my brother on your living room wall?!" He insisted, "Yes!" (In other news, I now know what to get Greg for Christmas.)
Greg also gets super-sad when I talk about our kids moving out (which I don't do a lot, but maybe too often), and, the other day, when I came home to find he'd bought me wine and a fine cheese as a surprise, he was aghast when my first words were, "How much did it cost?" (I said it in a nice way!) He gets fixated on weird things, like how great it would be to get himself a new old Toyota Sequoia, and will then research it everyday online until he knows which one he would get if we could afford it (as opposed to me researching a new old mid-century modern couch). See, after all these years, we still have the ability to baffle each other.
Little things like this remind me that, as much as I'd like to think otherwise, I have zero control over Greg, and yet I've entrusted him with my past, my future, and my very heart. How can I (a control-freak--I mean, not horribly so, but enough so that I've picked out Greg's second wife in the event of my untimely demise and then I get all excited planning what they can do with my life insurance money until I remember I'm dead in this scenario) trust someone I can't control? Therein lies the very danger of marriage. I am a very secure person, but about once a year I freak out and think, "What if Greg is living a double-life?!" At times like this, I awkwardly ask him if he's been faithful to me in all ways. The good thing about Greg is, his guilt would over-take him, he can't flirt to save his life, and he seems to really like me, even when I'm not at my peak charm. But I know for a fact (because he told me) that he thinks couples tend to take each other for granted, and to not see each other for who they are, and so I've been trying to watch this.
Fifteen years ago I fought back tears as I stared into Greg's cold, dead eyes (we feel emotions, but never at the same time), and recited this in front of 220 of our nearest and dearest: Today, in the presence of God, Family and friends, I give myself to you. I promise to be faithful to you, respect you, encourage you, trust you, forgive you, and love you through all that life may bring, as long as we both shall live. This is my solemn vow. Of course, we know that we are flawed, and we break our promises for various reasons and with various consequences, and thankfully there are new beginnings, new trusts, and forgiveness. But when my daughters come to me after telling of another classmate's parents who are getting divorced, and I look them square in their bright blue eyes and promise I'll never leave their father (for longer than an hour or two), somehow that promise feels the most weighty of all.
In the movie The Story of Us, a couple played by Michelle Pheiffer and Bruce Willis are separated and contemplating divorce. At the very end, right before they are about to take the kids out to eat to tell them the news, Michelle's character has a long monologue to her husband (which makes me cry, and Greg say, "Is this the cheesiest movie ever?"). She says she wants to stay together, because "we're an us, and there's a history there, and history doesn't happen overnight.... You can build cities upon other cities, but l like our city."
Greg and I have built fifteen years worth of a city together. When I think of us, I can't remember all the bricks, but I vividly remember the most painful and joyful ones. The moments we frustrated each other to tears, the times we held each other through bad news, health scares, and disappointments. And the times we shared acceptance letters, celebrated good news, and welcomed new babies that we could house inside our city walls until they scale their way out. (Just don't mention that to Greg quite yet.) So, one day, by the Grace of God, we will be able to look back together on the city we have built, and remember the bricks, both heavy and light.
And that's what marriage is to me. It's a supernatural phenomenon where Greg and I somehow remain fully unique individuals, but also become an extension of each other. His family becomes mine, and mine, his. Two lives grafted together with the goal of making each other a better version of ourselves. It's the promise that we'll build a city together, and the security that we don't have to say goodbye until death parts us.
And that, is my solemn vow.