47 years is a long time to be married, and yet my parents have pulled it off with aplomb. February 8, 1963, is the day that my very young mother and slightly older father walked into the Santa Monica Temple and decided that they were going to be married, not just for time, but for time and all eternity, according the Mormon belief system.
I do not have enough words in my GRE studied vocabulary to describe the admiration I have for this. The years have not been easy to them, as they have navigated rough waters, 7 children, 10 grandchildren (two on the way), lay-offs, major moves, retirement, Pollock-like splatterings of health problems, great triumphs and I'm certain (though they would never tell us children) great disappointments.
Any lack has been filled in abundance with love and support, open hearts and what I'm sure must be an unbelievably strong belief in the minds of their children as they watch us stumble around in the dark from time to time, knowing that though we will most likely fall, they will be right there to help us up.
47 years of marriage is not something that I am likely to accomplish (YOU do the math), but their relationship has taught me something that perhaps was not intended: Love is a decision. One may be, at first, IN love. But that kind of love goes away. It will not stay. You must decide if what remains is something that you can spend the rest of your life cultivating. Or if love is a seed best not planted.
Happy Anniversary to the best mom and dad in the world. Thank you for having the courage to let me make my own mistakes and then for brushing me off when I finally get up.
