Thus it is with heavy secret burdens that we arrive at my husband’s cousin’s wedding. I am miserably pregnant, and now, terrifyingly poor. My husband is worried. I have been deeply depressed. But my husband’s family doesn’t know about any of that. To them, we’ll appear to be living the good life: new job, new rental, no more deployments, and exciting new adventures. I’m a stay-at-home mom, which is quite a luxury to much of the world, and for most of my husband’s family too. Everything appears like it’s wonderful. I prepare to paste on a smile, and hope it doesn’t look as weary as I feel, lest I should have to explain the sigh beneath the surface.
Even still, I am glad we came. My husband’s family is a big, boisterous, bubbly group of working-class Catholics…construction workers, home-builders, blinds installer, lunch lady, school secretary, teacher, highway patrolman, and mommas and papas to gaggles of children. The mother of today’s groom has ten kids, my husband has five siblings, his other aunt has seven children, a friend has four….just a few families happily fill the church with a joyful bustle.
The church is glowing, cheerfully lit up and adorned with simple, hope-filled flowers. Little girls twirl in their dresses. Boys run in and out, back and forth, wrinkling their shirts, both laughing and grumbling. The sanctuary is full of life, in all its stages.
I try to embrace the happiness, joy, and hope of it all. For brief moments I do, but then I remember…. Without succeeding, I try to embrace the new life growing within my womb. I try to celebrate the mystery of motherhood, the privilege of carrying another soul inside my own body, next to my heart. I try to face the reality of our new financial hardship with courage, with humility, with all of those virtues that I thought I possessed but now find badly wanting! I try to find a way to lift my head above the waters, to catch my breath, to find my place, something to stand on, something to grab onto, some lighthouse to show me a path through this terrible fog inside my mind.
We settle our family into a pew, and again I remember to be thankful. Happy, healthy children. A faithful, loving, and patient husband. My babe-in-arms is a squirmy, crawling 10-month old. I walk with him to the back of the church, follow him as he crawls, lift him to my hip and sway, trying to catch glimpses of the Nuptial Mass. I can’t help remembering my own wedding, which feels so long ago now, just six years later. I was so perfectly happy back then. So full of hope. I wasn’t worried about anything. I never imagined being poor, or depressed, or miserable. I didn’t know where life would take us, but it all seemed such a grand adventure awaiting, a life-long honeymoon to come! So long as I could have my husband…
My husband. He suffered greatly in the Navy, getting the paychecks, housing, and perks that allowed us–me and the children that soon came along–to live comfortably and securely as we started our family life. I never had to worry about the bills getting paid, or having another mouth to feed. But for Jacob, it was awful. He was miserable in every way, except in knowing that I was alright, and that his family was well. But he toiled under a great burden of depression, misery… He had the opportunity to get a $70,000 BONUS if he signed on for three more years of service. That was certainly more money than we had ever had, or expected to have, at any one time. But it was out of the question. He was miserable. I wasn’t sure he’d make it another three years, and if he did, I wasn’t sure I would know the man he’d become, wasn’t sure that he would be able to recover himself from three more years of such affecting service.
So we left, without looking back. Prospects looked so good. We were so happy. My husband looked years younger and like he’d dropped a heavy pack from his shoulders, as his military contract finally came to an end. He was free. He had survived. We were moving on! That chapter was over for him. And this, this right here, this was supposed to be the happy time. The new chapter. The new adventure. Our Happily Ever After.
Instead, I am depressed, pregnant, poor, scared, ashamed.
I collect my crawling boy from the vestibule floor and bounce him vigorously, trying to keep him quiet. I desperately want to watch and hear the bride and groom say their vows, my favorite part. I manage to watch from the back, focusing on them as they transform from separate persons to become husband and wife, with glowing eyes and enraptured smiles. As the words of promise leave their mouths, I vividly recall and mouth my own sacred vows:
I, Shannon, take you, Jacob, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day
forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.
Why, I suddenly think, why did I never think the negative side of those vows would have to be fulfilled? I realize, with some shock, my maiden naivete. That as I stood at the altar, I, perhaps like nearly every blushing bride and groom, only imagined the good parts: for better, for richer, in health, forever! Why would we ever be unhappy? Certainly we would never be poor. We were humble starting out of course, but everything was just going to get better and go up from there! Health, happiness, and comfort were all coming our way!
Alas. Although I said the words, I very much did not expect, “for worse” or “for poorer.” I never expected to need those vows. I meant them. But I didn’t expect to have to live them. Yet here I was.
And rocking my squirmy boy, I remember too some words I had heard from Pope Francis, when he addressed a group of newly-weds, he said: “When I meet someone who is getting married … I say to them, ‘You are the ones who have courage!’ Because it is not easy to form a family, not easy to commit your life for ever; it takes courage.”
It takes courage.
This is a part of marriage that I never expected to experience. For worse. For poorer. Indeed, it is the first time any doubt about my marriage has fluttered across the surface of my mind–not doubt about my marriage, itself, but rather, the realization that my marriage is fallible, that it could be difficult, it is difficult, and that, that if I don’t rise to the challenges now, it could even–no, I can’t quite suggest it, because I won’t let it happen–but now, for the first time, I can see how a marriage, even my own marriage, could fall apart. I see how the strain of my depression, the stress of our too-small duplex, the pain of the financial limitations and worries…I admit that I see how it could be too much, that beneath such weights a marriage bond could snap, especially if little or no dedicated efforts were made to care for it…
My husband.
I, Shannon, take you, Jacob, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day
forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.
In the back of the church, witnessing the wedding of a young couple full of hope and joy for their newly married future, I am profoundly moved. My own circumstances, as painful as they are for me, are still a living out of these very vows, a part of this journey of marriage. I didn’t picture this on my wedding day. But this too, as much as the white dress and maiden blush, this too, is marriage. The facing of real trials, genuine hardship and uncertainty, with faith, together.
Yes, it does take courage.
That is part of the great mystery of marriage, “not for the faint of heart,” as a dear old friend would say. When one stands at the altar, it is a true act of faith and love, to say, without caveat or reservation: I vow to love you forever, to be forever yours, whatever happens, under whatever circumstances, no matter what.
Till death do us part.
That is the vow. And I absolutely meant it then, and I still mean it now. I just understand it, in a way, for the first time. This, this right here, right now, what I thought was going to be my fairy-tale ever-after, this is my marriage. These are my vows. And now, now is the time I must muster myself to live up to them.
For Better or Worse.
For Richer or Poorer.
Till death do us part.