Today is, would be, my parent’s 58th anniversary.
My father was a sailor and a shipmate set him up on a blind date while in port in Massachusetts. He proposed to my mother two weeks after that fateful meeting. She said yes but wouldn’t marry him until he came back from his last Naval tour of duty. She planned their wedding while he was out at sea and they were married in her hometown, in the church up on the hill, the very weekend my father sailed into port, finishing his Navy service. They married 8 months after they met.
The year was 1952.
Their mother’s said it was a terrible mistake and they wouldn’t make it last.
They had their first child almost exactly nine months later.
They had another child three years after the first.
They had another child three years after the second.
They had another child, whom they lost 12 hours later, four years after the third.
They had another child, unexpectedly four years after the child they lost.
They lived, they struggled to raise their family of four, they loved, they argued, they took care of their family and made a home with meager finances.
Their life was not perfect, their life was not glamorous.
They loved each other to the very last of their days.
And that love made their life richer than can be measured.
1 comment:
Through all their up's and down's, I must say that their love lasted until the end of time.
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