Forty-Five Years Ago

 Forty-five years ago today, on a crisp, sunny Saturday, October 10, I took a walk that changed my life.  There, in the Presbyterian Church where I had attended since age 12, I took my Dad's arm (wondering how in the world I could leave this man I had loved all my life to go live with another man), and walked down the aisle toward my new life as Mrs. James Mitchell Wilson.

It had all come about so quickly (in some ways), even though we had been dating about two years.
A few weeks earlier (about 6 weeks), Jim was about to graduate from the SBI Academy, which was held at that time at the Institute of Government at Chapel Hill.  He preferred to stay closer to the western Piedmont or mountains of North Carolina, so he had requested any placement west of Raleigh.  Then he called me one night with the disappointing news that he was being assigned to New Bern, which was about as far east as they could assign him!  He knew nothing about the area, and I pointed out to him how close it was to the beach, about Tryon Palace being there, etc.  His reply was, "well, I don't think I want to go down there alone..." and hinted that he wanted me to go with him.  I  warned him not to say anything he didn't mean, to which he replied, "okay, but we will talk about it this weekend."

The next thing I knew, wedding plans were being rapidly thrown together.  He was graduating and would have to report to his assigned area by mid-October, so time was a premium. We went to Madison and picked out a diamond together.   Thanks to my Mom and Aunt Maxine, dresses for maids of honor were made in record time.  My beautician loaned me her wedding dress and veil.  The florist, which had attended church with my family for years, gave a discount on the flowers.  The dry cleaner cleaned the wedding dress for free. Since my minister couldn't work in counseling, Jim's former minister worked us in and talked at length with us about the seriousness of this decision.  The next few weeks were a whirlwind of activity with showers, cookouts, rehearsals, etc.  Electing to do a small reception with family and wedding party after the rehearsal, we were saving the cost and details of a big reception following the wedding. Jim's father had gone down to New Bern and arranged for a rental house, furnished, for us to move into.  My dad went with us with a rental truck to take what few furnishings etc. to the house.

The wedding was small but beautiful.  Fall flowers, attendants in shades of deep green or yellow, and beautiful weather contributed to the day.  In a rapid blur, the ceremony was over, and suddenly we were on our way to our honeymoon.  I had been somewhat sad that the annual fall trip to the mountains would be missed, but Jim surprised me with a trip to the mountains for the honeymoon.   Whether it was happiness or just an  especially beautiful fall, the few days were indeed special.

Staying at the Hotel Roanoke in Roanoke, Virginia, was an experience.  The next morning, as we were leaving the room to go to breakfast, we encountered one of the Shriners that had been convening in the hotel.  He hoped they had not disturbed us with their partying.  Jim embarassed me by replying, "It's okay -  we are newlyweds and didn't plan to sleep much any way."  Breakfast was at the grill across the street, which was frequented by the retired engineers from the Norfolk and Western Railroad.  We nearly choked to keep from laughing as they repeatedly commented on which train was coming in and whether it was on time or late.

After a couple of days touring caverns, riding along the mountain roads, and enjoying the fall weather, we stopped by and visited both sets of parents before heading to New Bern.  There the tone of our marriage was set right away when he was called in to work earlier than originally planned.  I would learn not to cook or plan anything without consulting with him from the first day there on. I would soon learn to do lots of things around the house by myself, learn to go places alone, and enjoy what time we had together.

 After a year or so, we began trying to start a family, which, it turned out, wasn't as easy as we anticipated.  By the time Jimmy was born we had been married nearly seven years, and that time included a move to Greenville, a miscarriage, and the loss of Jim's mother.

Sitting here tonight, thinking back on those events, it seems impossible that it was 45 years ago. 
Those years included various physical problems, the loss of Jim's father, my father,and a couple of beloved aunts, and a few weddings to attend.  Jim lived long enough to see Jimmy graduate college and attend one year of law school, and he, thankfully, had met and gotten to know Karla.  He would pass a few months after our 30th anniversary, so he was not around for their wedding.  Nor would be be around for the births of three darling little grand girls, who he would have spoiled worse than I do.
I guess the moral to all this musing is: cherish every day, for the time flies by more quickly than you know.  

Love and Loss

I've been thinking a lot about love and loss this week, due in part to the calendar flipping to May.  Tomorrow, May 2, marks the 20th "anniversary" of my father's passing - hardly seems possible it has been 20 years.  Being the first born, and being a female, I became and, in some ways still am, a "Daddy's Girl".  We shared several common interests, one of which was a fascination with the newspaper business, particularly the actual printing process.  My first job was proofreading at the same newspaper where he worked, and I dearly loved sneaking down to the press room when time came to "roll the presses"!  How I loved the sound of those presses running despite the loudness of the noise.  He would see me there and grin that absolutely wonderful grin of his and there was just a magic moment between us.  While I have always been close with my mother, there was just something truly special about my relationship with my father.  I remember the night I graduated from high school (something he never got to do between economic necessity and then the war):  as he tearfully looked at my diploma, I remember saying "I would give it to you if I could" and he hugged me.  This man with only a middle school education managed, with the help of my mom, to bring up four children in a Christian home, see that they were healthy and happy, and then saw all four graduate from college (although I, as the indecisive one, managed to wait to do it until age 45, and, of course, he was there to cheer me on when I graduated).

May 10 brings another sense of loss, for that is the date, now 14 years ago, when my beloved Jim passed away.  While we knew the status of his cancer, neither of us expected it to take him quite so fast, and I still look back on the six months between the diagnosis and his death as the shortest six months of my life.  Jim (Flip) was one of a kind.  Slow of speech and slow to react, he often seemed shy or hesitant, but he was, instead, sly as a fox, thinking about every word before he said it.  He was great at detail and observation, which made him really good at his job. He worked long, hard hours and was a natural caretaker, whether it was taking care of his family or his yard or his garden, which he dearly loved.  While he was not one given to public or outward displays of affection, he was a truly loving man, and I miss him every day.  One thing that came out of his passing was a change in my relationship with my mother.  Now both sharing the label of "widow", we have a new bond the last 14 years.

Adding to the sense of loss is May 20, the day my beloved grandmother passed:  the woman I adored
and revered.  I think of her often now that I am a grandmother myself, and I even see a similar bond between my first-born granddaughter and me that reminds me of that relationship.  Even though I was only 10 (about the age of my oldest granddaughter) when she passed, I still think of her often.

Now, this week, I add another loss to my calendar.  The gentleman who became an important part of my life the last few years has now decided he cannot deal with the geographic distance and the lack of commitment on my part.  Citing that he is "tired of hurting", he has decided to end our relationship.  While my brain logically understands the situation, my heart is broken.  We had a wonderful, loving friendship that lasted several years, and I hardly know how to get through a day without talking to him.

It is said that to open yourself to love is to open yourself to vulnerability and pain.  I think of the Garth Brooks' song "The Dance", in which he states that even if he had known at the start how it all would end, he still would not have missed the dance.   I have had some loving dance partners, and I would not have missed their dances, even if there was eventual pain.