Uneven aging: Vows

March 21, 1986

Today is our 37th wedding anniversary.  When I was asked, in French class, "What is the secret to a long marriage"; I replied, "Ne pas faire reposer tous ses besoins sur l'autre." (Do not place all your needs on the other.) Heads nodded, even a nun's.

Ironically, the classic vows point us toward that remit: "...for better or worse, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, as long as we both shall live." The day comes with a beribboned wallop of commitment, once you utter that. (I have never heard vows qualified by "on a good day", or "unless the all the kids are vomiting at once.") 

We were aware of what life might send. We had both been married before and saw firsthand how love can erode. But we were entirely willing to make the vows that assured the other, I'll be here. I felt incredibly lucky, excited, optimistic and at the same time, deeply at peace. We wondered what life would send, but on such a joyful day, there's hardly a moment to think of the distant future.

As decades pile up, and you grow older together, there comes a point when you wonder who will survive the other. Because I am nearly seven years older than LeDuc, I had the pleasure of our financial planner showing me a chart where my pension tails to zero, because, as she euphemistically put it, "you leave us", and his clicks along. My thought, and I am not proud of it, was, "We'll see about that."

When you are in the Passage, there is a constant assessment of who is healthier, who needs more care. This is why I began to write the series, and at that point I knew but one thing: you reap what you sow.

If love, respect, and solid commitment—despite the need for an occasional junket with the girls— are not present, the compassion and attention are difficult to muster. When those qualities have been built, tested, rebuilt, nurtured, there is a willingness to give, to see the afflicted person through to recovery or to the end of life. I have also seen couples separate after thirty or forty years; some retain caring, but cancel their responsibility for the "in sickness and in health" part.

Aging is bound to be uneven, but so is love—sometimes a vibrant and natural flow, sometimes a jaw-grinding slog. I've long wondered why we pay so much attention to the signs of aging, to fighting its incursions, and don't focus instead on nurturing our capacity to love. Which one can we do something about, and which will help us support the other, whether a partner, friend or neighbour?

Thirty-seven years ago, I did not know quite what my vows would entail, but I would not have guessed that Le Duc, who has developed several non-trivial health issues, would need more support than me. That could change overnight, but for now, I am the one making sure he's following orders... more or less.

But today is not just about whether those day-of-the-week medication boxes are properly filled, or the next appointment is on the calendar. It's about recalling the intense joy of that day, the feeling of being so lucky, and of knowing he felt that way, too.

I did say, in that class, that the secret is not to put all one's needs on the other, but at year thirty-seven, the assurance of support through a difficult time—willingly and with love—seems the most significant promise we made.