Hug your husband

December 9, 2013

A few days ago, Grandpa had his 90th birthday. I can't say he quite celebrated it, though he managed to blow out the candles on the 9 and 0 a few days prior, but on the day of, he was confined to a bed in Hospice. I spoke to Grammy the afternoon before his birthday, shortly after he'd been moved to hospice. Each of my conversations with Grammy in the week of his birthday began with, "I can not believe how good God is." She would go on to tell me of the peace and provision He has and was currently lavishing her with. First and foremost, she spoke with her faith. She was as selfless as ever, asking after Sofia, praising her cuteness and accomplishments, telling me how proud she was of Manny. "He's so smart and such a good daddy, I'm so glad you have such a good husband." And in and out of asking after or encouraging me, she would intersperse updates on her or Grandpa's condition. Being true and courageous, she openly explained how hard this time is for her. 

Hard and peace are not mutually exclusive. 

It was hard to see Grandpa in so much pain, bound by so much physical limitation, struggling even for the air he needed to breath. It was hard to think of letting go, but harder still to wish for anything but relief for him. And so, after pausing a moment as she got choked up, she commanded me with gentility and urgency, "you make sure to hug your husband." 

The following day, his birthday, when I called again and asked her to convey a happy birthday to Grandpa for me, she scoffed a bit. I imagine there wasn't much happy about that day. But she did immediately point out that this would have been their 69th wedding anniversary. I joked that "they can't have all been easy years!" But she immediately and with all seriousness expressed urgent gratitude for that many years persevering in the bond with this man she was overwhelmed with love for in this moment. "So many young couples give up at the slightest hint of trouble these days," she said. She wasn't going to deny their own troubles, but she couldn't be more grateful in that moment that she and Grandpa had persevered through all of them, all the way through to his dying breath. She remarked that the longer you're married, the more you figure out about each other and the better you can get through the difficulties. "You must learn so much about each other over the years that makes it possible to fight better," I postulated. "But you both change so much," she revised. 

How much those two must have changed from the moment they met each other to this day. I imagine Grandpa as a rather socially clueless nerd who always attracted more popularity than he ever desired. And Grammy was a tall, skinny, fashion plate who had an insatiable crush on a cute boy at church. He was cute enough that she easily looked past his awkwardness or failure to appreciate what he had in her admiration. She pursued him till the day she got him for keeps. They sound like typically naive young teenagers bumbling their way into life's biggest commitment. But they both had dogged determination. 

Naive as it may have been, that commitment was for good in both their eyes. In the course of their marriage, Grandpa saw Grammy go from comfortable middle-class privileged princess to conscientious, poverty stricken, resourceful finance manager. She endured serious poverty to stay with him. He saw her work to put him through those early years that launched his career. She remained true as he left for war, worked inhumane residency hours, and traveled the globe to speak on his research. He saw her endure the loss of three pregnancies, the loss of her body as she fought cancer, the loss of her family members and friends. She saw him go from arrogant unbeliever to born again, Sunday school teaching, passionately theologizing Christian. She saw him fumble through fatherhood, tolerate young grandchildren, and adore great-grandchildren. She saw him evolve from socially awkward nerd to a man who could be her collaborator in some of the best hospitality Houston or Carmel have ever witnessed. Come poverty, wealth, war, peace, birth, miscarriage, cancer, athletic award, shame, global renown, conflict, reconciliation, anger, gratitude, in sickness and in health, all opportunities to move on from one another and call it quits, they held together, somehow, someway. 

                             

"Hug your husband."

I have been blessed to have spent so many hours, days, and years with such involved presence of Grammy and Grandpa in my life. They have had the type of impact on me that is so significant, that I am sure I will never fully know, much less understand how much they have made me who I am. But I certainly hand't thought much about what they've taught me about romance. 

Movies and media tell me romance is all about chocolates and flowers and fancy dinners. Grammy might revise that to say it is more about buying you gorgeous jewelry at opportune moments. But in general, I wouldn't have looked at Grammy and Grandpa and thought them romantic. I might even have felt like for many of their years, they were mostly tolerating each other. I remember Grandpa enlightening me that the story of Romeo and Juliet is not about the beauty of romance, but of the foolishness of young people and the idiocy of eros. 

I remember asking what was going through her mind once as we witnessed a young couple getting married, and she answered, "they have no idea what they're getting themselves into." [and now more than a decade hence, I know she was right] My grandparents were not a couple exuding loads of warm fuzzy affection. But I certainly have witnessed my parents marriage as full of affection, and now get to enjoy such affection in my own marriage. And I can't help but feel like Grammy and Grandpa are largely to be credited. Their perseverance paved the way to show me how to love with dogged perseverance and commitment, to help me love and respect and desire and pursue my husband, Come. What. May. All they endured makes it seem easy, even in the midst of a fight, to hug my husband. 

And then I have to be fair. In later years, even as Grammy got much more honest and forthcoming with her grievances against Grandpa, I saw him changing before my very eyes. Now he was the one who wanted to cook for her rather than sitting at the table with fork and knife in hand awaiting his food. In Carmel, he always insisted that he was the one who would do the dishes, shoeing her off aggressively, as she tried to help and couldn't stay away, out of habit (or maybe fear, as he could not seem to cook food raw enough for his liking and was bound to kill us all with E. coli). As we would sit at restaurants or at a play, or walking along the coast, they were always holding hands, and sharing frequent kisses. One of my most vivid images of him as we would take walks all together along the beach is of his body bent over, one arm crossed at his waist behind his back, and the other stretched out behind him, all fingers extended widely, reaching for her hand. 

And I think that's the way I'd like to picture him right now. As he passes, and as Grammy's heart is breaking over his pain, exuding so much love and desire for his peace and happiness, I can't help but think that after all those years, bound so tightly together with this woman he showed so much love to, that as he walks forward into eternity, that he will be doing so, yes, with a smile on his face, ecstatic to be entering into blessed rest with his Redeemer, but even in that, with his hand outstretched, all fingers extended, reaching for Grammy to hold his hand and walk alongside him on the most beautiful walk they will ever take together. And I imagine Grammy's joy and jubilation as again, she is able to hug her husband for eternity.