Marking an unremarkable anniversary with the woman I’ll never forget
Saturday was our 51st wedding anniversary, and I spent about 30 minutes with Evelyn.
I had planned for longer. I had planned to eat lunch with her and look through a small album of wedding pictures together. But a contractor I had been pestering for weeks finally texted and said he could stop by at noon to look at the job I have for him. I didn’t want to let him get away, so I changed my plan.
Next, I went to a memorial service at our church at 2:00 and stayed afterward to greet people I knew from out of town who were there.
Big question
So I didn’t get to Artis until after 4:00 when Jessica had already arrived. (Jessica and Tori alternate days hanging with Evelyn from 4:00 till 8:00. Their extra help is a blessing.)
I asked Evelyn, “Do you know what we did 51 years ago today? We got married!”
She looked up from her newspaper. “Hm” was her response. She seemed interested in the news, but then she went back to her reading. I stayed a while longer and then went home to get ready for a church party I would attend that evening.
Small album
I tried again Sunday when I had more time.
I found the small album of wedding pictures on Evelyn’s bedstand and brought it to the dining room where she was reading.
Someone advised me that looking through old pictures together could be a productive pastime. “She may not remember the specific event, but talking about it with her will touch something inside.”
So I spoke with her about each picture. “There we are, exchanging rings. . . . There I am giving you a big kiss. . . . We fed each other wedding cake. . . . Look at that table full of presents!”
I named each bridesmaid and told her one of them had written me to say she shortened and wore her dress many times after the wedding. “Evelyn wanted us to have a dress we could get some use from.” Pretty, but practical: typical of Evelyn.
We spent maybe 10 minutes with the photos, and then she was through. “Do you want to look some more?” I asked.
She nodded yes, and said, “I will,” before returning to her magazine. She did open the album again once or twice while I sat with her.
Future memory
Later Tori came, and I asked her to take our picture. It’s a way to mark the day, a memory to keep for the future. “There we are on our 51st wedding anniversary. You’re sitting in your new wheelchair. We’re in the dining room of the place you’re living now. Everyone says you look so good in that orange top.”
We keep pictures to remember the past. But I’m thinking, What would it mean if we could see those pictures years before they’re taken?
What would have been different for Evelyn and me if at age 23 I could have glimpsed this 51st-anniversary photo? What mistakes would I have avoided? Which tasks would I have volunteered to take off her hands? How often would I have paused to appreciate her work, to savor her beauty, to thank God—and her—for the good in each day?
Grief’s gift
Last Saturday my Facebook feed was full of memories from anniversaries past. I realized again that without happy memories, we’d have little to grieve. Grief is a gift to remind us of all the good. And I remembered so much this weekend.
We didn’t always take an anniversary picture (now I really wish we had), but we always celebrated. As I thought about past anniversaries and the years in between, I remembered Evelyn’s quiet poise, her unflagging determination to tackle the next task, her loyalty to me, and her attention to our children’s needs. And her smile. That beautiful smile we still can coax from her.
It's on display in our 51st wedding anniversary picture. I will always remember.