Musings on 40 years of marriage

October 14, 1978

I remember it as though it was yesterday and yet it is forty years ago. Some of the in between is a bit blurry in spots, but I imagine that is normal, and to be truthful, there are some moments best left unremembered. Marriage as an institution seems to be in an increasing decline, yet here we are, astonishingly,  many decades later.

I think it is a wonder that men and women can find lasting happiness together because we are so different; our emotional responses, physical makeup and ways that we think, are so opposite. Yes, this is a massive generalization but there are certain physiological facts which are scientifically proven. Men use more grey matter and women more white matter. This predisposes a man towards intense focus on information and tasks, while a woman's brain uses the white matter to connect many areas of her brain allowing her to multi-task more easily. Male brains process neurochemicals differently which is often displayed in a tendency towards more activity and aggression. Women tend to have a larger hippocampus and more neural connections to it, which translates to a greater capacity to absorb sensory and emotional information. And further, females have verbal centres on both sides of their brain, while males have only one which is on the left hemisphere. Finally, a difference in blood flow in the brain, means a female has more access to emotional memory and the ability to focus on it for a longer period. These are built-in differences, and only a few of the many, but they are hugely significant in their impact on relationships.

Let us add to these preexisting conditions, two very different people. Lynn, my husband, was born in rural Quebec. He spent his first years on a farm with his twin in the care of his grandparents, while his parents worked in Montreal. He is the oldest, by some twenty minutes, of his four brothers. His father made a final break from the family when Lynn was fourteen, leaving him to accompany his mother to the hospital for the birth of his youngest brother. When we got married Lynn had just finalized a divorce from his first wife who had run away with his best friend. He had debts, emotional baggage and was 30.

I was born the last of six, into a devout church going family. I was born and grew up in a suburb of Toronto. My dad worked in downtown Toronto and my mom took care of the home front. The church was our social centre and my parents were always involved. I was only four when my first sibling got married, so Robert and I, the youngest, grew up as a kind of second family. When we got married I was immature, naive and had just turned 21. 

I got to thinking about those bits of advice that come when you are preparing for marriage and wondering which ones have stood the test of forty years. They follow in no particular order.

"Let not the sun go down on your wrath"; a Biblical quotation meaning 'don't go to bed angry'. The implication is that you need to get issues squared away before bedtime so that they do not become more deeply entrenched, or go unresolved. Here's what I have learned; this is hard, it takes work and time, and is generally learned the hard way. Lynn has always been better at saying I'm sorry and usually first.  While sometimes an issue can and needs to be tabled for a future time, I would talk myself out of discussing hurts; I shouldn't let this bother me, it is not really important, I won't let this bother me, etc.. This practice usually ended up in a meltdown of huge proportions at some point, being wrought upon a generally befuddled and totally confused husband who either thought that the issue was settled, or never knew it was a issue in the first place. I took too long to learn how to handle conflict and I regret that. You have to set guidelines early in your marriage so that you have a framework to help you always be honest in your feelings, but able to express them without doing harm to each other. This becomes increasingly important when you have children, who will need to see that it is possible to work out differences, but also need to be confident that parents disagreeing need not lead to divorce. And lastly, your bed needs to be a place of solace, comfort and rest. Sleep is survival!! 

"Love is a commitment, not a feeling." Here is what I learned about this one; feelings are fickle and untrustworthy as a gauge of love. Certainly that is where relationship starts, with bated breath and sweaty hands and pounding hearts, yet there will be times in a relationship when you do not feel loving or loved. Lynn and I had a long distance relationship for a long time; he lived in Sudbury, and I lived in Rexdale. It was wonderful, filled with longing and sweet letters. Then we got married. I was not aware that I had a temper until I had a husband. Suddenly life takes over and there are long work days, money worries and misunderstandings. I am certain that it was built into my moral compass that divorce was not an option, so over all these years and through many challenging and difficult times, it never occurred to me that there was any way but through it and onward. I know that longevity is not necessarily a measure of the health of a relationship, because I have seen that 'peace at any price' has a tendency to give one partner emotional power over the other. And I also know that for my mom-in-law, that final departure, was the one meaningful gift that Lynn's father gave her.

When the feelings go awol, then the commitment takes over in the form of loving action. My parents were not demonstrative with each other or with us, which is not a criticism, more a comment on what was patterned for them as 'behaviour befitting'. I learned that a hug has a power to speak and heal. I learned that encouragement is important and I need to be my husband's biggest fan. I learned that compromise is important and no one is diminished by it. I learned that marriage is never 50/50; it takes the most you can give all of the time. I learned that showing respect builds self-esteem in the one you show it to. While I have measured short many times, Lynn has been there with a hug, a word, a quiet acceptance or an unexpected flower. It is hard for him to tell me what he feels but he has shown me in myriad ways. Is he flawed? Of course, but not in any ways that are truly important. 

"Make laughter the sound track of your marriage." I don't remember being given this particular piece of advice, but I think it reminds us that joy and laughter can be the glue in any relationship. A sense of humour celebrates life's happy moments and can help us get through some of the less pleasant ones. Laughing together at each other's foibles and mistakes gives acceptance and encouragement. Lynn and I have dissimilar tastes; we prefer different TV shows, authors, music and food. We have learned to give each other space to enjoy those things, but there are lots of things to enjoy together, and we do. The best time of day though, still remains, the moment he comes home from work. It is the sigh of the day, he is here and the world rights itself.

So I guess,from this pinnacle of forty years of living with the same man, I would say; it is possible, it is worth it and I am thankful. 

p.s. I am also grateful for the examples of successful marriages in my family that showed me how it is done, even if I was not always paying as close attention as I should have been.

Gratitude dans le maelstrom

J'avais nommé ce blog 'Dans le Maelstrom' parce que c'est là que je sentais que j'étais; au milieu d'un tourbillon d'émotions et d'événements sur lesquels je n'avais aucun contrôle. Les dernières semaines ont été turbulentes. Mon frère est mort; notre fils s'est marié; nous avons conduit au Québec; un membre de la famille a dû être hospitalisé; mes frères sont allés à Winnipeg pour les funérailles; nous avons célébré les anniversaires; nous avons rendu visite à des membres de notre famille, nous ne les voyons qu’une fois par an, ce qui est, je le sais, l’essentiel de la vie. Cependant, il s'agissait de la compression de tous les événements dans un court laps de temps. C'était les émotions extrêmes sur des montagnes russes de jour en jour. Comme le dirait Matt Smith, c’était l’ambiance «timey wimey» du temps qui s’arrêtait dans un instant et de la vitesse de la chaîne dans l’autre.

Je n'arrivais pas à écrire ce blog cependant. Cela me trottait dans la tête toute la semaine, jusqu'à aujourd'hui. Il est apparu soudainement plus important de passer de la pleine conscience à la gestion adaptée, en passant par la gratitude et peut-être même vers l’acceptation. Je réalisai que mes pensées étaient davantage basées sur la peur et probablement la colère, ce qui me garderait très probablement dans ce vortex, dans cette eau tourbillonnante, plus longtemps que ce ne serait sain pour moi. Cela ne veut pas dire que je sois encore sorti de cette eau, mais seulement que je ne puisse plus rester dedans à me débattre et à risquer de couler.

Par conséquent, j'ai décidé que ce blog prendrait ces choses de ces semaines difficiles et choisissais délibérément de trouver et de lister ce pour quoi je peux être reconnaissant.

Ai-je fini de faire le deuil de mon frère, Alan? Non, probablement jamais, mais je suis reconnaissant qu'il soit fermement ancré dans mon cœur et dans ma mémoire. Je peux encore entendre sa voix et voir son sourire et saura à jamais qu'il m'a aimé. Je suis reconnaissant pour la soeur qu'il a introduite dans ma vie. Elle est forte et incroyable, même si je sais qu'elle se sent moins en ce moment. Je suis également reconnaissante de pouvoir l'aimer et de lui rappeler alors qu'elle se débat avec une vie pour toujours altérée.

Notre fils s'est marié quelques jours à peine après l'annonce de la mort de mon frère. Nos cœurs ont une capacité incroyable et je suis tellement reconnaissant que la joie puisse exister au milieu du chagrin. Le soleil était inattendu ce jour-là, mais a éclaté à travers les nuages ​​comme une bénédiction et une bénédiction. Karen avait écrit le service et l'officiant a incorporé la joie et la signification dans les mots de promesse et d'engagement lors d'une cérémonie de Handfasting unique en son genre.

Le lendemain du mariage, nous avons conduit les neuf heures nécessaires pour nous rendre de notre domicile en Ontario à Sherbrooke, dans les Cantons de l'Est, au Québec. Je fais ce voyage avec mon mari depuis plus de quarante ans maintenant. Ma belle-mère a maintenant 95 ans et je ne la vois généralement qu'une fois par an. Mon choix de la visiter plutôt que de m'envoler pour Winnipeg avec mes frères, bien que difficile, était nécessaire.

Maman semble devenir un peu plus petite chaque année, mais elle est courageuse. Elle m'a accueilli avec chaleur et amour depuis ma première visite chez elle. J'ai travaillé sur son arbre généalogique et nous avons passé de nombreuses heures à répéter l'histoire de sa famille et ses histoires personnelles. Une des visites que nous faisons toujours avec elle est au cimetière. C'est une visite importante pour elle. Au fil des ans, le cimetière de Reedsville est devenu le lieu de repos de la plus grande partie de l'histoire personnelle de Maman. Les parents, la famille élargie, les voisins et les camarades de classe, et maintenant un fils, y reposent et chaque visite est un moment de mémoire pour tous ces êtres chers. C'est en effet l'histoire non seulement de la famille de maman, mais de la communauté dans laquelle elle a vécu une grande partie de sa vie.

Maman habite à proximité du Domaine Howard, un parc et un jardin que mon mari a connus sous le nom de Howard's Pond. Nous avons toujours fait une visite annuelle, mais maintenant que maman n’est qu’à un pâté de maison, c’est un refuge quotidien pour moi. Le domaine Howard était la propriété de Charles Benjamin Howard, un riche industriel, sénateur et ancien maire de Sherbrooke. La beauté et la créativité des jardins nourrissent l'âme. Fin septembre, les arbres revêtent leur magnifique robe d'automne rouge et orange. Il y a des bancs autour de l'étang et il est courant de voir quelqu'un se reposer les yeux fermés et le visage tourné vers le soleil. Parfait. Je suis reconnaissant pour ce bel endroit de calme et de réflexion.

J'ai l'impression que les Cantons de l'Est font partie de ce que je suis maintenant. Nous visitons les lieux qui ont formé l'histoire de la famille de maman. Je pense que c'est comme ça depuis toujours; la répétition des histoires de famille et des lieux qui leur sont liés qui font que le commentaire d'une famille reste en vie dans la génération suivante, pour que ces souvenirs ne soient pas perdus. Une pratique importante pour laquelle je suis reconnaissant, même si je pense qu’il faut probablement atteindre un certain âge avant de l’apprécier.

Je suis profondément reconnaissant pour les visites de famille où vous reprenez simplement là où vous l'aviez laissée l'année précédente. Les familles sont souvent séparées par de nombreux kilomètres et nous ne sommes en mesure de nous rendre qu’une fois par an, voire moins souvent. Lorsque nous rendons visite, le temps est toujours trop court. J'espère peut-être que cela rendra la visite plus agréable; il leur reste peu de temps pour toucher leur visage, les serrer dans leurs bras et leur dire des mots importants.

Je suis reconnaissant que le temps, les absences et la langue ne soient pas des obstacles permanents au sentiment de famille. Le père de mon mari a quitté la famille (longue histoire), ce qui l'a séparé de tout son héritage français. En commençant par les noms dont maman se souvenait, j'ai construit un arbre généalogique de ces racines françaises et suis finalement entré en contact avec des membres de la famille (aussi une longue histoire). Ce qui est important, c’est que les quelque 50 années de séparation, la différence de langue parlée et l’absence d’expérience commune ne fassent aucune différence pour l’amour, l’acceptation et la joie d’être liés, lorsque nous nous rencontrons enfin. Ce fut une expérience extraordinaire. Mon mari ressemblait à son cousin Roger, et Tante Gisele s'en était souvenu, et Julie tante aimait toujours sa mère comme une sœur, même après tout ce temps. Connexions spéciales et joyeuses réunions.

J'étais reconnaissant de pouvoir célébrer les anniversaires de mon beau-frère Marc et de son fils James, notre neveu. Le même jour. Impressionnant. Nous sommes allés au verger de pommiers, avons monté la remorque dans les rangées de pommes et avons ramassé des sacs. Tellement de plaisir et l'occasion de célébrer au moins une des occasions de l'année ensemble. Un souvenir précieux.

Et quand mon frère m'a appelé après l'enterrement, je suis reconnaissant de pouvoir être réconforté par ma mère restante et de reposer ensuite ma tête sur l'épaule de ma belle-sœur, sachant qu'elle a compris. Ensuite, prenez un gâteau d'anniversaire et admirez une petite fille dans la famille. Bénédictions

Parfois, eh bien, souvent, je perds la perspective. La peur fait ça. Vos pensées sont négatives, car de nombreuses choses dans la vie sont blessantes, effrayantes ou horribles. Et quiconque dit que les choses ne peuvent pas empirer est sérieusement trompé. Cependant, le fait qu'il y ait une récolte et un temps de reconnaissance avant la nuit noire de l'hiver nous donne une chance de réorienter notre vision et de nous préparer.
Je vais donc essayer de suivre le modèle des trois branches de la spiritualité druidique pour accomplir cela.

Je poursuivrai la réponse bardique de la photographie et de l’écriture, car la créativité est positive et apaisante. Je poursuivrai la réponse ovée de passer du temps dans la forêt pour se ressourcer et se recentrer et trouver la paix dans son calme. Je poursuivrai la réponse druidique de gratitude délibérée pour me rappeler qu'il y a toujours des raisons d'être reconnaissant.

Thankfulness in the maelstrom

I had named this blog 'In the Maelstrom' because that is where I felt that I was; in the midst of a whirlpool of emotion and events over which I had no control. The past several weeks have been turbulent. My brother died; our son got married; we drove to Quebec; a family member had to be hospitalized; my brothers flew to Winnipeg for the funeral; we celebrated birthdays; we visited with family we only see once a year..all of which is, I know, the stuff of life. However, it was the compression of all the events into a small space of time. It was the extremes of emotion on a roller coaster from day to day. It was the 'timey wimey' feel, as Matt Smith would say, of time stopping in one moment and moving warp speed in the next. 

I couldn't seem to write that blog though. It mulled around in my mind all week, until today. It suddenly seemed more important to move from mindfulness and coping, to thankfulness and perhaps a moving towards acceptance. I realized that my thoughts were based more in fear and probably anger, which would very probably keep me in that vortex, in that swirling water, for a longer time than would be healthy for me. This is not to say that I have stepped out of that water yet, but only that I may no longer stay in it thrashing about and in danger of sinking.

Therefore I decided that this blog will take those things from these difficult weeks and deliberately choose to find and list that which I can be thankful for.

Am I over the death of my brother Alan? No, probably not ever, but I am thankful that he is firmly fixed in my heart and my memory. I can still hear his voice and see his grin and will forever know that he loved me. I am thankful for the sister that he brought into my life. She is strong and amazing, although I know that she feels less so right now. I am also thankful that I can love her and remind her while she struggles with a life forever altered.

Our son was married just a couple of days after the news of my brother's death had reached us. Our hearts have an amazing capacity and I am so thankful for joy can exist in the midst of sorrow. The sun was unexpected that day, but burst through the clouds like a benediction and a blessing. Karen had written the service and the officiant infused joy and meaning into the words of promise and commitment in a Handfasting ceremony that was unique in the way that Karen and Matt are. 

The day after the wedding we drove the nine hours that it takes to go from our home in Ontario, to Sherbrooke in the Eastern Townships of Quebec.I have been making this trip with my husband for over forty years now. My mom-in-law is now 95 years old and I usually only get to see her once a year, so my choice to visit her rather than fly to Winnipeg with my brothers, though difficult, was necessary. 

Mom seems to get a bit more petite each year, but she is feisty. She has welcomed me with warmth and love since my first visit to her home. I have done some work on her family tree so we have spent many hours rehearsing family history and her personal stories. One of the visits we always make with her is to the cemetery. It is an important visit for her. As the years have passed the cemetery in Reedsville has become the final resting place of much of Mom's personal history. Parents, extended family, neighbours and schoolmates, and now a son, rest there, and each visit is a time to remember all of these loved ones. It is indeed the history of not just Mom's family, but the community in which she lived a great deal of her life. 

Mom lives close to the Domaine Howard, a lovely park and garden that my husband knew as Howard's Pond. We have always made a yearly visit, but now that Mom is only a block away, it is a daily place of refuge for me. Domaine Howard was the estate of Charles Benjamin Howard, a wealthy industrialist, senator and former mayor of Sherbrooke. The beauty and creativity of the gardens feed the soul and in late September the trees are putting on their stunning red and orange fall robes. There are benches around the pond and it is common to see someone resting with their eyes closed and face turned to the sun. Perfect. I am thankful for this lovely place of quiet and reflection.

I feel like the Eastern Townships is part of the fabric of who I now am. We visit the places that have formed the story of Mom's family. I think this is how it has always been; the repetition of family stories and those places connected to them that keep the commentary of a family alive in the next generation, so those memories are not lost. An important practice for which I am thankful, although I think that one likely needs to reach a certain age before one appreciates it. 

I am deeply thankful for family visits where you simply pick up where you left off the year before. Families are often separated by many miles and whom we are only able to visit yearly or even less frequently, and when we do visit, the time is always too short. Maybe, hopefully, that makes the visit sweeter; there is just a short time to touch their face, hug them, and say important words.

I am thankful that time, absence and language are not permanent barriers to feeling like a family. My husband's father left the family (long story) and this caused a separation from all his French heritage. Starting with names that Mom remembered, I built a family tree of those French roots and eventually came into contact with some family members (also long story). The important thing is that the some 50 years of separation, the difference in language spoken, and the absence of common experience together, made no difference to the love, acceptance and joy of being related, when we did finally meet. It was an extraordinary experience. My husband looked just like his cousin Roger, and  tante Gisele had remembered and missed him, and tante Julie still loved Mom as a sister even after all this time. Special connections and joyous reunions.

I was thankful to be able to celebrate the birthdays of my brother-in-law Marc, and his son James, our nephew. On the same day. Awesome. We went to the apple orchard, rode the trailer into the rows of apples and picked bagfuls. So much fun, and a chance to celebrate at least one of the year's occasions together. A precious memory.

And when my brother called me after the funeral, I am thankful that I could be with my remaining Mom for comfort and later rest my head on my sister-in-law's shoulder for a moment, knowing she understood. Then have birthday cake and admire a grandbaby in the family. Blessings.

Sometimes, well often, I lose perspective. Fear does that. The focus of your thoughts is negative, because so many things in life are hurtful, or frightening, or horrifying. And anyone who says that things can't get any worse, is seriously deluded. However the fact that there is a harvest and time of being grateful before the dark time of winter, gives us a chance to re-orient our outlook and prepare. 

So I will try to follow the pattern of Druid spirituality's three branches to accomplish this.

I will pursue the bardic response of taking photographs and writing, because creativity is positive and healing.

I will pursue the ovate response of spending time in the forest to recharge and refocus and find peace in its quiet.

I will pursue the druid response of deliberate gratefulness to remind me that there are always reasons to be thankful.