LOVE: It's Never An Easy Task!

I love my husband. He stays with me. Like he’s supposed to. Like he promised he would when we got married, long before we knew how difficult this whole love and marriage thing would be. He sticks with the program no matter how thick, thin, watery, bedraggled or entirely whacked out it becomes—he simply never gives up.

 

We’ve been together for 22 years. Shoulder to shoulder, nose to the grindstone and feet to the fire, we’ve faced plenty of lows (job losses, illness, death, bankruptcy, emotional problems, financial stress, family strife, marital rifts and every other irritant you could possibly squash into a marriage) which have spanned more than two decades, three children, and two cross country moves. But we’ve also made countless happy memories, and taken care of each other, body and soul. He drove me to college, watched our children come into the world and drove me to the emergency room after I almost passed out from dehydration. (Got me off the toilet, mind you. That’s commitment.)

 

But my husband has made some monumental mistakes in our marriage, and has said and done things I thought I’d never heal from. And I have made some pretty egregious errors myself. Yet each time I’m convinced I’ve had it, when I’m running on fumes and it seems our differences are far too great to overcome, he somehow guides us gently back from the brink. He’ll  hang our wedding portrait on the wall, next to the picture of my parents. Then make me a bowl of Cream of Wheat or take me out for coffee, and remind me of the best marriage advice we’ve ever been given.

 

 

 “Any marriage can survive when goodwill exists on both sides.”

   

 

That was the only piece of marriage advice my parents ever gave us, and they were married for 47 years. Although they elevated bickering to a modern art form and were not always a portrait of wedded bliss, their love was stronger than steel, more resilient than tragedy and truer than north until the day they died. It was within the shelter and safety of their perfectly imperfect union that my brothers, sisters and I were raised, and where we learned what true love really means.

 

Love means staying together when your spouse forgets to buy you a Valentine’s Day card. When they admit they don’t know what they want out of life, or your relationship. Or when they’ve hurt you so badly they’ve broken your heart and dreams into a million tiny pieces.

 

True love is forged when one of you does something unforgivable. But then, a hand is extended across the silence, and a brave decision is made. You’ll move ahead, together. Moments before, your hearts felt dead, as if the love you shared was an impossible memory. But armed with a reservoir of goodwill and hope, you learn that a marriage can heal from the deepest of wounds.

 

The meaning of life is learning to love, but none of us can learn to love alone. We learn to love by loving the person we promised ourselves to, through good times and bad, in sickness and health and when the going gets unbearably rough. Love is a continual decision we make and lesson we learn when we wake up and face a new day. Together.

 

My hope is that you’ll always remember your promise to love and cherish each other. It won’t always be easy, but it’s always possible. Your hearts, full of hope and goodwill, will surge forward in the ebb and flow of perfectly imperfect, beautiful, real love. You can count on it. I know I do.

 

 written by Jennifer Cooreman


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