The First Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary
Theoretically, two people who love one another only need one wedding to affirm their vows. Hubby and I had two, and he wanted a third. So much for the absurd concocted idea that Hubby recently had in his mind, that he had somehow divorced me when I wasn’t looking!
I might not have thought to record these thoughts, but Hubby passed away only days ago and today is the 50th anniversary of our first wedding ceremony. How do I face the two fiftieth anniversaries on my own? If I am honest in sharing my thoughts with you dear diary, I am no more on my own now, than I might have been if Hubby had not passed away. After ten years of ever-increasing memory loss, he could no longer remember the wonderful years that we shared. I considered the possibility of an anniversary party with my Hubby who might not have understood what we were celebrating. That was difficult to imagine. I decided not to indulge myself in a party where I would probably bore my friends with vignettes of the life Hubby could not recall, as it would ultimately cause me more sadness than never having celebrated at all. Tonight, I face our first fiftieth anniversary alone, but my memories keep me company.
You might remember that Hubby and I met standing in line at JFK waiting for our seating assignments on our flight to London. He proposed the next day after showing me the Tower of London, The British Crown Jewels and the most romantic spot on earth, Frensham Pond in the English countryside, equipped with gorgeous swans, ducks, a lake, a forest and a gourmet restaurant and hotel.
Hubby had been traveling to London in order to get a divorce from wife number 2 (are you getting confused yet?), only to discover that the UK had a mandatory two-year separation period before couples could receive a British divorce. Hubby was re-directed by his solicitor to Reno, Nevada where he established residency in six short weeks, and could divorce there one day later (uncontested, and easy.) He enjoyed telling anyone who would listen that his divorce lawyer had also represented Marilyn Monroe in one of her divorces. No need to be impressed. The lawyer charged the same rates to everyone according to Nevada State law. Hubby was relieved to discover he could afford the best.
One day after the six weeks of residency, Hubby had his divorce papers from his one-year marriage, intended to help his devoted female friend to receive a green card in the USA. She had wanted the marriage to continue, but he had never loved her and was unwilling. The divorce was not my fault. I take great comfort in the fact that I had no part in any of those decisions. Although his massive rush to receive the final decree was definitely related to our whirl-wind romance.
Once Hubby had the blue legal documents in his hand, he boarded an airplane to Washington D.C. where I was waiting for him. Within hours we were having the then-required blood tests at the county court house in preparation for our civil wedding the next day. You might want to know why there was such a rush.
The dynamic was two-fold. We already had a date for our religious wedding which would be held in two weeks’ time. But Hubby needed to fly back to London to accompany his father and mother on the flight to Arlington Virginia, to participate in our wedding. My father, who was old-school when it came to his daughter, could not tolerate the idea that Hubby would stay with me in my apartment without a wedding ring on my finger. He insisted that the night before the civil wedding, Hubby should appear to be staying in a local hotel. Appearances mattered to Dad, although no one was actually looking.
This was especially humorous, as I had flown out to Nevada (from the East Coast) twice during Hubby’s 6-week residency requirement. I spent a week with him each time, and Dad never uttered a word about the accommodations. Out of sight, out of mind!
After my mother passed away from a terrible heartbreaking lung cancer at the age of 68, Dad had no compunction about having two lady-friends at the same time, one in Virginia and one in Florida. Apparently, his concept of virtue applied only to me, as he had no intention of ever marrying again.
That was the first of the two reasons why we married so quickly. The other reason was quite simply that we were massively in love and felt compelled to marry as soon as possible. I felt that I was unable to inhale enough oxygen. A visit to our family doctor who looked at the engagement ring on my hand, and the situation was diagnosed immediately.
“Are you in love?” he inquired. He understood that my breathing problems were simply due to the stress of so much happening in such a short time period. The doctor suggested that I keep a brown paper bag with me at all times in case of hyper-ventilating. That with the addition of a daily 2.5 mg of Valium did the trick. Once I actually said “I do,” I threw out the valium (and the brown paper bag) and our new life began.
Our wedding number two was lovely, a proper religious wedding with guests, formal attire, dancing, and all the trimmings. Perhaps I will write about that wedding in two weeks’ time. It was on Armistice Day, November 11th. Hubby could always remember 11/11 but he had difficulty with the date we met, the date of our civil marriage, and of course, my birthday.
Many years later, a good friend, Rabbi B. visited our home and asked to see our religious wedding certificate. We had joined this same Rabbi when he accompanied a couple we knew, on a flight from California to the Old City in Jerusalem to renew their vows under the stars. The Orthodox Rabbi we had met and studied long after our wedding, had looked at their certificate and declared it invalid. Hence the new wedding, with the travel costs and inconvenience incurred. Thus, when Rabbi B. asked to see our certificate. I flatly refused. He smiled at the time and asked why I would mind it he took a peek. I flat-out said that I would not allow the Rabbi to declare that our marriage certificate did not meet up to his standards, and that the fifteen years of our marriage had actually been out of wedlock. We had a seven-year-old son and no one was going to tell me that he was anything but very legitimate!
A week later, as Hubby and I snuggled in bed, he asked me if I would like to renew our vows. The seed had been planted, and I decided not to water it. We were in business together and Hubby managed to leave all the details (like bills, employees, purchasing, retailing) to me. I was quite sure that he would love to have another wedding, but that the planning and execution would be mine alone. I demurred. On reflection, Hubby had quite enough weddings. Four thus far (two to other women, and two to me). He thought he was being romantic, and he was. But I had become quite pragmatic after being his wife and business partner, and knew where the responsibilities would land.
Three weddings for the same two people, really is two more than necessary.
So, as I sit with my trusty computer, writing to you dear diary, I miss the Hubby that had such grandiose ideas and who apparently loved me enough to marry me, not once, not twice, but three times. A man who proposes twenty-four hours after meeting and who loved so generously, must be celebrated on this, the first of our two fiftieth wedding anniversaries.
I am not sad. He has passed on and I am left with wonderful memories of a life well-lived. That, at the end of the day, is the best anniversary gift he could have ever given me.
