50th Wedding Anniversary
Estimated reading time: 11 minutes, 59 seconds
People Die, But Love
Lives On Forever!
“Penthouse, please,” I requested, my finger hovering over the button of the self-service elevator. The compact space could barely accommodate three people, yet somehow, it felt roomy. Jan stepped in beside me, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, and one of her friends joined us. In that moment, I couldn’t help but admire her. She had always captivated me, but on our wedding day fifty years ago, she was nothing short of breathtaking.
The elevator, a symbol of our journey together that was formalized fifty years ago, was about to take us to a new chapter in our lives. As the elevator rose steadily and slowly, I gazed into her eyes, marveling at the fact that within the next hour, I would become her husband.
Jan leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Honey, I know what’s on your mind, but we need to wait.” Even though we had been apart the night before—she had spent it with her friends preparing for our wedding—I realized that at that moment, an elevator quickie was not what I needed or wanted; what I desired most was to step out of the elevator and become her husband.
From the moment Jan playfully poured wine over my head, I felt an undeniable bond, as if we were already married! Before that day, I had worried I’d never find someone who would love me. Stepping out of the penthouse together, I sensed we were embarking on a thrilling new chapter, full of love and adventure!
No marriage is perfect, but ours was as close as one could hope for. Today, I won’t be taking the elevator to the penthouse to re-read our vows, as I always thought I might do if we had both been here together on this anniversary. The saying “We make plans, and God laughs” resonates in my mind. We were so close—fifty-one months and six days short.
Recently, I read “Love Forms” by Claire Adam, one of the novels longlisted for the Booker Prize. Dawn, the protagonist, says toward the end of the novel:
“The God giveth is the remembering. Because it does seem to me now, as I get older, that to remember the past is its own gift: to be able to return to those past moments—the sorrows and joys—and relive them, even the ones that we don’t properly understand.
Today, like Dawn, I reflect on the memories of the sorrows and joys of a love that will never fade away.
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
