Anniversary Blues

May 22, 1982.  My anniversary.  Even 15 years after his passing, this day evokes both profound joy and sorrow.

Our wedding was a down home, backyard affair.  We had a reporter-source relationship.  I was the "fire brand" politician, ranting on the school system I was employed by; he was the new Education reporter.  I could depend on his call everyday at 4 o'clock. A year later, our relationship became more serious, but we kept it secret because his editors thought it presented conflict of interest issues.

And, then, my period was late.  So, in a flurry of activity, our friends hastily put together a pot luck wedding scheduled for the next weekend.  One called the politicians, another called the reporters.  What fun to hear their shock at the announcement!  News spread like wild fire and people started calling to ask if they could come.  Of course, just bring food.

I'm sure this was the cheapest wedding in history...we only paid for our gold bands.  I wore the white linen suit he had given me for Christmas.  No flowers, no photographer, no wedding organizer, no caterer.

I had been married before, he hadn't.  He was 10 years my junior.  He was black, I was white.  He wanted children, I was hesitant.  I didn't think I was good marriage material; he ignored me.  I thought I had a future in politics; he wanted me to do whatever made me happy.  And, then, in an instant on a Monday afternoon, my whole future was decided.

The wedding was an ecstatic affair.  Beaming throughout the day, we listened to the uproarious toasts and speeches.  And, then, escaped to Block Island to bask in the glow of each other.

Of course, it was not all sweetness and light.  His mother begged him not to marry me; my parents didn't come.  But, even though the odds looked bleak for success based on sociological studies, our marriage worked for us.

Somewhat amusing was the fact that my period started two days before the wedding!  Our first child, a son, was born within the year and our second, a daughter, followed him by 20 months.  We were the quintessential happy family for five years and then came the death sentence.  Then, nothing mattered except loving each other, living in the moment and making memories for our children.

Here is the poem he wrote for me on our tenth anniversary:

She came to me
A curly-haired moppet
Ninety-nine pounds and granny glasses
And a moonbeam for a smile.


We became friends
And dared to be lovers
And in a moment so swift
We shelved our pasts
And let eternity stretch out before us.


She planted gardens
I pounded words
Time took off and carried us away
Births came like spring's renewal
Darkness, like a winter's blizzard.


But always in the darkness
I found the light of love
It grew like a garden
It erased the past
It reveled in the moment
And had a moonbeam for a smile.