As a teenager I had certain ideas in my mind that constituted the idyllic life of love and marriage. In Home Economics, our teacher had us plan the perfect wedding and the perfect reception, right down to the throwing of rice and driving away in a limousine. It was just like the movies where the nice guy gets the beautiful girl and they live happily ever after. Reality was not a part of the picture.
After high school, I went to college and was determined to ome a nurse. I forgot about marriage. I could put that on hold since I was going to help people and travel. Surprisingly, two years later I met the man I would marry. It's often said, " opposites attract." This was really true about us.
He was from a small town in Idaho and farmed with his father. I was from a Southern town, which had a ater population than the entire state of Idaho. I had always been emphatic that I didn't know whom I would marry, but one thing was for sure --he would not be a farmer or dairyman! Well, I was wrong in both cases. They were not only farmers but dairymen as well.
We were married in October just prior to the beginning of heavy snowfalls. It would snow heavily throughout the whole winter. Our only entertainment was listening to the radio or the local high school sporting events. My new husband was a
lover of sports. He had been a champion boxer and also participated in most sports. I was a lover of the arts. Speech, drama and dance were my first love. The nearest town with this kind of entertainment was forty miles away and the highway was closed off and on1 all winter.
We had only been married seven months when I received word that my mother, who was battling cancer, would not live much longer. Even though there was the dairy with 75 cows and 1400 acres to farm, as soon as my husband read the telegram, he sadly said, " Honey, get your bags packed while I make reservations for you. Your place is with your mother and your father right now." To him there had been no other decision to make. Every week I would receive a letter telling me all about how the farm was doing and inquiring about my parents and how we were all doing. Little was said about his sadness of being alone, or of missing his new bride, except at the very end of his letters where an unmistakable " I love you" was written. Teenage dream letters would have been filled with remarks of undying love and pain of missing me, but his letters were simple words of reality.
Four months later, after the funeral and final matters were taken care of with my father and brother, I returned to Idaho where I knew my husband would be at the airport to meet me.
The look in his eyes told me more than any dream letter could. The joy and honesty of love was deep. On the 80-mile drive to our home, I talked incessantly while he quietly listened, without interrupting. When he finally had a chance to respond, he asked me to open the glove compartment of the car and take out an envelope with my name on it. " I wanted to give you something special to let you know how much I missed you," he said quietly.
I opened the envelope to find season tickets, for both of us, to all of the area's fine art functions. Our income was not all that at and I was stunned. " I don't believe this," I cried. " You don't enjoy these things!"
When I finally stopped protesting, he reached out, hugged me and quietly said, " No, but you do, and I will learn." In that moment I realized marriage wasn't 50/50, but real love was made of 100/0 sometimes. Love means putting the other one
first. His example taught his young wife a at lesson--a lesson that has made a happy marriage for 51 years.