For the last few weeks I have started a few blog posts and
then either got too busy to finish them or didn't really have as much to say as
I thought. I don’t start out with the intention of wanting to send a message or
revolutionize someone’s thinking—usually my posts start one way and then end
up another without me even realizing it. I was going to post my thoughts on our
recent roller coaster into home ownership but I felt like I was just venting. I
was going to dedicate a post to my dad on his birthday last month, but everyone
already knows how great he was. And then, I read something. I read it a few
weeks ago and it has been staying with me ever since. I’m not sure if it has
stuck with me in a good or bad way, but it has me thinking.
A few weeks ago I read something that, in so many words, was
a description from a woman who said that her husband didn't complete her. She
loved her husband, but said that many other things completed her: community,
friends, faith, etc. This is not a critique of that reading. As a writer I know
first-hand that everyone is certainly entitled to their own beliefs and I
applaud anyone who has the courage to put themselves and their writing out
there for the world to see. However, I don’t have to necessarily agree with the
writing either. That’s the beauty of words and thoughts. I haven’t really
followed up since, but I believe this reading was highly lauded and received,
but it has stuck with me enough these past few weeks because I beg to differ. I
would argue that a husband or partner does, in fact, complete you. I’m not
talking about Reneé Zellweger completion in Jerry Maguire. I’m talking about
completion in an imperfect, messy, wonderful marriage. A level of completion
and partnership and marriage that I can only pray Anth and I might someday
achieve. Naturally, I’m talking about my parents.
My parents were married for 30 years before my mom passed
away. 30 years. I have been married for a year and a half. I can’t imagine the
author of that article has been married 30 years. If sickness and sadness had
not derailed the plans, my parents would be working on their 34th
year of marriage. I only knew my parents’ marriage for 23 years—that means that
for 7 years—over 6 times the amount I have been married, they were together. They
had memories before me. They had fights before me. Including dating, they had
over a decade of love before little ol’ me ever came along. That’s a lot of
numbers, but my point is that it creates history. It creates memories. It
creates love. Most of all, it is the groundwork for completion. I try to be
pretty independent. I spend over half of my fall travelling for work and
spending nights away from my husband, and, for the most part, I get by pretty
okay. I’m not saying completion means that you get sad when you’re away from
your partner or you’re happier when together—every healthy marriage has that.
Completion, from what I witnessed, is the buildup of memories, trials, tears,
happiness—the buildup of life, over such a great amount of time. I imagine that
if my dad read that piece he would have been pretty pissed. My dad needed my
mom so much—not to lay out his clothes or make him dinner—my dad needed my
mom’s warmth and spirit and companionship and love so very badly that when she
was gone, his heart was irrevocably broken. He was, in effect, incomplete.
Every day for over 30 years my dad woke up to my mom. Later on when she
couldn't deal with his snoring (which he would deny to this day) they would
sometimes wake up in different places, but every morning they saw each other
for over 30 years. I have woken up to Anthony for 17 months. Months! I’m not
taking away from my marriage or any other marriage, but when you compare months
to years, it’s apples and oranges. For over 30 years, my parents leaned on each
other, struggled with each other, and built a life together.
Whether you are a reader of the Bible or a believer in its’
teachings, I would say that most people are looking for completion. Maybe they
just don’t know it. You can be strong and independent and intelligent and still
be looking for completion. Completion is not a weakness. It’s a compliment. We
are called to be in community, to embrace family and friendships, but if you
have lain your head down at night for 30 years next to one person and then all
of the sudden you lay your head down and that person is no longer there, then
try and tell me it’s not completion. When my mom was sick, family could comfort
her but they couldn't complete her. When my mom was at her weakest, my brother
and sisters and I went home from the hospital to sleep at night. My dad didn't.
My dad slept (really, I doubt he slept
any) on a chair next to her bed because he couldn't bear to be apart from her.
He didn't want sleep anywhere else but next to her. That’s completion. That’s
not saying he didn't enjoy being around people or love our family, but he
needed to be by her. He needed to comfort her. To fix her. He needed her to
complete him. And when we lost her battle, he slowly became more incomplete. He
lasted a little over a year without her before his heart finally, officially
broke. Yeah, he had high blood pressure, but we all know his heart was broken. His kids couldn't fix his heart. His community
couldn't fix his heart. Only that sweet girl he married 30 years before could
heal his heart, and she was gone. That’s completion.
Man, this post has been sadder than I expected. See, this is
a prime example of how my writing always takes me on more twists and turns than
I intended. It is sad. What happened to my parents is sad. Heart-breaking. Gut-wrenching. But above all of that, it
should be celebrated. Not their death, but their life. I started my
relationship when both of my parents were alive and (what we thought) healthy.
I witnessed a lot of ups and downs with those two crazy kids, but my foundation
of love and respect and kindness in a marriage was formed from my parents. I
didn't expect Anth to come into my life when and how he did. I was good on my
own. I have some pretty kick ass friends and family, but he brought and
continually brings something to my life that no one else can. He can be the
person he is because he is a steadfast man of faith and belief and our marriage
covenant is founded in Christ. I’m the lucky girl who gets to see life through
his eyes (which trust me are WAY different than mine!) and that completes me.
They say you end up marrying someone like your dad, and I couldn't think of
anything better. My dad was my ultimate protector. He was my mom’s protector. I
might be biased, but she had great kids, sweet brothers, and an unshakable
faith; yet her faith and my dad’s love are what completed her. A girl could do
a lot worse than marrying someone who completes her. Maybe that’s just my
opinion, though.
