Marriage Vows and Valentines

I gave my husband Robert a romantic card depicting a cartoon of a woman with curly hair lying under the bedcovers with an empty pillow next to her. The message read: “If you’d like to be my Valentine, you know where to find me. All my love and kisses.” Instead tears flowed when Robert had no card to give me. Of course in the long haul, our marriage vows were much more important.

We could not have imagined what “standing by each other no matter what happens” would involve—adjusting to life as an alien resident living thousands of miles from families in New Zealand, Australia, and Florida; qualifying to practice law in America; multiple moves across state lines chasing jobs as a two career couple; employment discrimination and unemployment; running a sole proprietor business; betrayal by a trusted friend and embezzlement; LPA leadership; surgeries for cataracts, detached retina, hips, and aortic valve replacements; workaholism and marriage counseling; car accidents; ice storms and hurricanes. Yet with God’s help we kept this vow.

Our ability to “respect each other’s individuality” is continually challenged. Take, for example, Robert’s idea of being ready for a camping trip was a kayak strapped on top of the van without packing any food, bedding, or camping gear. Also, I often didn’t appreciate Robert’s humor. Like when he forwarded me an email listing bumper stickers he thought were funny. Only a couple caused me to even crack a smile. One sticker reminded me of our road trip experiences—He Who Hesitates Not Only is Lost, but is Miles from The Next Exit.

And I was not amused when I missed an I-90 exit when driving home from Boston, Massachusetts to Rochester, New York. Robert took great delight in repeatedly singing the chorus from “M.T.A.,” a song about a man trapped on the Boston subway.

Well, did he ever return?
No, he never returned and his fate is still unlearned.
He may ride forever ‘neath the streets of Boston,
And he’s the man who never returned.

On the flip side, Robert wasn’t amused when his photo in the gallery of national officers published in the 1983 LPA Boston convention brochure was of him sporting a snorkel and goggles in contrast to the formal attire of the other officers. I had sent the editor two photos—the funny one for the editor’s personal pleasure and a serious one for publication. The editor shared the joke with everyone.

            Forty years later in our retirement years we are now learning to accept our changes, and enjoy our love until death parts us.

This post was adapted from book II in Angela Muir Van Etten’s dwarfism memoir trilogy—PASS ME YOUR SHOES: A Couple with Dwarfism Navigates Life’s Detours with Love and Faith, https://angelamuirvanetten.com/pass-me-your-shoes/.