It is Valentine’s Day, and my wife and I did go out to lunch to celebrate this afternoon. I had a French dip sandwich, and the love of my life had a messy plate of nachos that she loved. We have been through quite a bit in the 35+ years we have been a couple. Breakups. A wedding. Two kids. Separation. Marriage counseling. And here we are—still in love with each other. Still best friends.
I often wonder, if Orpheus and Eurydice or Romeo and Juliet had had chances to grow old together, would they have endured similar challenges?
Marie Howe writes about another ancient love story . . .
Persephone
by: Marie Howe
People forget he was a king, a god,
and that down there deep
everything gleamed.
So tight did he hold me I was swaddled hard
so bound I couldn’t move,
and inside that grip he moved and moved
and it was a monstrosity
an ecstasy I forgot myself. I became
an animal again I screamed. It didn’t matter how long.
No one put a hand over my mouth.
And when it was over
I lay across his knees, on my back, entirely open,
nobody, no one
an animal on the altar of a king—a god.
Okay, so perhaps the myth of Persephone is NOT the most heartwarming or romantic. I mean, it does begin with a kidnapping and grieving mother (who happens to be a goddess and almost destroys the world in her sorrow). And Howe doesn’t really portray Persephone as a moony-eyed lover. She’s more like an animal sacrifice meant to appease the king/god of the Underworld. That beginning doesn’t bode well for a “happily ever after.” But, maybe it’s a more realistic picture of the trials and tribulations of romantic love.
I have loved my wife since the first day I laid eyes on her. We had a lot of things stacked against us from the start. There was an age difference that made both of our families a little suspicious. At the time, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be in a serious relationship; I was a few years into my college education and thinking about graduate school. She was raised Methodist, and I was a cradle Catholic. (This may not sound like that big of a deal, but it certainly was for my father, in particular.) Like I said, a lot of obstacles.
Yet, where love exists, anything is possible.
As I said earlier, my wife and I have had our share of challenges. Loss. Mental illness. Addiction. But, to paraphrase Sir Elton John, we’re still standing. For that, I credit stubbornness, luck, prayer, and quite a lot of grace.
My wife’s family has become my family. When my sister died of lymphoma of the brain, they were there for me, holding me up, providing love and support (and food for the funeral lunch). They did the same for the deaths of my brother, parents, and another sister. I never had to ask or beg for help. They just stepped in and lightened my burdens.
When I fell in love with my wife, I gained not just a partner, but an entire village of brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles. I have been truly blessed with love in my life.
Saint Marty wrote a poem for today about his sister, whom he loved deeply. She was taken way too soon , , ,
Why?
by: Martin Achatz
I am older now than my sister
will ever be. She will never fire
up the Keurig to make morning
coffee again, never sit under
a lonely star and wonder why
her legs won’t help her rise
from her chair, never wrap
a birthday or Christmas present
again. I wonder, in her last
breaths, if she still felt longing,
the ache to be held like an infant
in our mother’s arms one more time.
When that comet appeared in the Milky
Way of her brain, and when
that comet became a shower
of August Perseids, did she know
she would be leaving us so
soon? Were her bags packed,
plenty of socks and underwear
for the long journey? I can still
see her standing on the deck
of Charon’s boat that last morning,
waving to me as if she’s just going
to Walmart to pick up a few things—
toilet paper, toothpaste, a dozen eggs.
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