Leave and Cleave

I suppose I married far too young. Nothing could make this any clearer than when I look at my own daughter who is just two months shy of her twentieth birthday and the same age I was when I said "I do" back in 1986.

What was I thinking? What were my parents thinking? Does it matter now what any of us were thinking? Jim and I were in love. Our hearts were full of youthful passions, ideals and dreams for the future when we stood together that day under the warm smile of the Michigan sun promising each other forever in front of my father the minister and a crowd of 300 witnesses.

I've always said that we fought as hard as we loved during those first years together. Our personalities clashed daily. I remember he once told me that I made him crave four-letter words more than anyone else in the world. And, I believe it. I could be difficult when my ideals squared off with reality...and lost.

With maturity's hard-won hindsight, I can see now that we were both going through the process of "leaving and cleaving." I have heard younger souls romanticize the Biblical admonition to "leave and cleave." The truth is...leaving your youthful ideals can be painful; and, the process of blending two strong wills is not the stuff of fairy tales.

As we made it through those first few years, our hearts did grow together. We learned what was important, and what to let go. We worked together to achieve some basic goals: college--for me; a new car--a Chevy Celebrity; a house--we signed papers right after I turned 21; and children--Jayna was born right before I turned 23; and, Jared was born four and a half years later.

Since that time, the trajectory of our lives has twined us through things we never knew we would have to face. Things that left us far apart, and things that brought us back together when we least expected it. Up out of the rubble has grown a fierce mutual respect. And, for me, that is love.

Last week I had my annual physical. As part of routine screening, my nurse practitioner asked, "How are things with you and Jim?"

My answer might have been more candid than she expected, but it was the truth.

"We are partners in this business of life."

And, I realized that was the truth. Does my heart skip a beat when he walks into the room? Not really. Do I sometimes look at him and feel overwhelmed with the dearness of this man I call friend? Absolutely.

Last night we went out for a Valentine's Day dinner at Denny's. Why Denny's you might ask? One of our first dates was a breakfast supper. I think a stray bit of my former idealism hoped to grab a meaningful memory from our shared past.

As we sat across from each other in the booth, no giddiness crackled through the air. Instead, the space between us was filled with the companionship of 23 years; and, our easy conversation was punctuated with stretches of comfortable silence.

When the waiter came over to the table, I ordered breakfast-- two eggs over-easy, hash browns and pancakes.

He ordered...a hamburger, medium-rare, with onion rings.

My Valentine's idealism bristled for only a moment...this was supposed to be a breakfast supper. And, then I smiled.

Leaving and cleaving, as it turns out, is the process of a lifetime.