For Better and For Worse

Last night, my dear friend Gail

got married. The bride and groom's adult children,

her son and daughter and his daughter,

all participated in the ceremony,

attended by a few dear friends and family.

"Sweet Spot" © 2010 Meri Arnett-Kremian

At times like that,

when people are pledging their lives to each other

and picturing shared dreams

and growing old together,

it makes you think.

And so it was really distressing

in the conversational time after the cutting of the cake

and all the food munching and champagne sipping

to hear the story of one of the guests,

a nice man whom the groom has worked with

for some three decades.

Mr. X had a bone marrow biopsy 

to confirm or rule out  multiple myeloma

only two days before the wedding.

His wife decided she'd vacation in Hawaii

rather than be there for the test.

And when the doctors began to mention

treatment protocols to him

and he called her to talk about it,

she told him he should move to his childhood home

to be with his elderly mother,

because the wife refused to take care of him.

After all, she said, she has a job.

I thought of my own marriage

and how totally, unabashedly, completely

 I loved and adored my husband

even after I decided there wasn't room in our marriage

for me AND his paramour

and set him free.

I flatly just couldn't identify

with being so disconnected from my spouse

that I would be unable to muster compassion

and caring at a time that he must be

so frightened and overwhelmed.

Their marriage has been on shaky ground for a while,

he conceded,

and he's really only happy at work.

When he's home, he's exhausted and only wants to sleep.

And I know that there's always another side,

and it's not my place to judge, 

but still. . . .