Author: Sylvia

Dear Eddie:  I am grateful for our learnings about closure. I always heard the word closure to mean that something was over. The answer was final, subject closed. I learned that final rarely happens.

The word closure is used regarding unanswered questions or unpleasant experiences that people wish would stop. We hear it on crime dramas when families want answers. We hear closure used regarding grief. Because grief hurts, and no one knows how to make grief stop, people may short circuit the process for others who are grieving. I long ago learned that missing my dad is on-going and pops up unexpectedly over the years. Revisiting grief honors the relationship missed. Named and reexperienced, in perhaps shorter pieces, grief never completely reaches closure. You and I talk about these griefs. Our talks further bond us.

Interesting for our relationship have been two other kinds of closure. First, you demanded closure as an escape when you were uncomfortable and wanted to stop talking about something. That closure was complicated by my inherent need to solve anything NOW, with a million words if necessary. When “Ed’s need for Closure” kicked in, I would feel shut down and devalued. I learned something important. Your need for closure when you were uncomfortable was about you, not about me. I learned you could be flooded with emotion or unable to process everything all at once. When I gave you space, you surprised me. You came back to the discussions on your own. You did care about my input. We worked through things together. That became our new pattern.

Second, I discovered that you would give closure to me, to us, as a gift despite your discomfort. I first recognized this gift the summer Mama was dying in the nursing home. You announced, “We will make the trip to Spain that we have planned.” You closed the yes/no conversation when I would have seen the trip as impossible. And together we figured out how to do it. You chose for us, over your own discomfort, and helped me with mine.

Darling Eddie, our patterns have shifted as we have grown. I love you.

Sylvia

Does the need for closure play a role in your relationship?

What does it say about your inner workings? About your spouse’s?

Are there ways those answers can draw you closer? Change your patterns?

Dear Eddie: We just enjoyed one of our quarterly two-night getaways. This time, it was with the Better Marriages North Carolina folks. I enjoyed relaxing in intentional marriage enrichment space with you and only being responsible for one piece of programming. We spent a lot of time thinking and talking about being supportive spouses. In those conversations, and with that group of couples, I found myself being grateful for the love and support we have received from other couples in our married life.

Way back at Alma College, when we were engaged, I remember married couples who first treated us as another couple. Dr. and Mrs. Kapp and Dr. and Mrs. Eyer invited us to their homes for dessert and gave us wedding presents. I think they gave us more in support. I think they enjoyed their own marriages very much. They were all four dynamic interesting individuals who really liked their spouses. I think they saw us having the real possibility of growing into that kind of marriage. They kept us in their circle of support as long as they lived.

At the conference, I was grateful for the many couples who have shared their real marriages-ups and downs, joys and concerns, difficulties and learnings-with us over the years. We have admired them, yes, but more than that, I think we have been inspired by them to live genuinely, to risk talking about hard stuff, to see ourselves on a growth trajectory. They took risks, and they kept themselves in the support of other couples who did the same. They cracked sometimes but healed and grew.

I am grateful that you were and are willing to keep our marriage in what we call a marriage-friendly connection. We were barely thirty when we were invited into marriage enrichment. The support of that cloud of witnesses goes on even fifty years later and even after the deaths of many of our friends. I want every couple to find a trustworthy connection. They need other people who love their own spouses and want to grow and stay together.

Thank you always for taking the risk to live real with me and with those who support us. I love you.

Sylvia

Who supports your vision for your marriage? Who do you trust to have your best interest at heart?

Brainstorm together resources you might seek (people, groups, books, websites, organizations.) What one move will you make toward a marriage-friendly connection?

Dear Eddie,

Thank you for another wonderful two-night-minimum getaway. For years, we have prioritized time away for the two of us. We have learned that it takes at least two nights away to really relax. We repeatedly put two-night-minimum on our on-going Marriage Growth Plan. We often talk about where we have been, and we talk about where to go next. There are good reasons we have those conversations. Our recent Valentine weekend at Hilton Head Island proves the point.

Our getaway gave us the chance to unplug from our usual very satisfying life, including important logistics, and experience each other in new ways. It was a full day of travel, first looping north to take our Abby to District Honor Band. Even in that long day, we enjoyed Winter woods transforming to Spring woods with red maple in bud and the first Carolina Jessamine blooms decorating the median trees. Finding the cute little hotel directly on the beach, we were immediately glad we did not cancel our trip when our Better Marriages of Georgia event was once more postponed in Covid world. It would have been so easy to just stay put at home. We were rewarded with a gorgeous sunset crowning our first evening beach walk. After supper, we crashed, sleeping twelve hours. Next morning, we met each other ready to organize our next few days in whatever way we chose,

Organizing ourselves in a totally new getaway place demanded talking with each other. Where were we anyway? What did we want to do, now, today? Maps, walks, exploring options, finding fun and appropriate food, if/then conversations. You are a lot of fun. I love new places with you. Boring—not a bit. It’s kind of a kick to find I can still push your comfortable edges, and you even say you like it after some initial growling. 53 years plus, and you are not bored either. That is good.

New getaway experiences reminded us of other places and times in our lives. Any beach makes us harken back to Galveston, Clearwater, Daytona. Dogs on beaches reminded us of Sparky and Buster. Some couples reminded us of early “just we two” times and places. Couples with one child in a stroller and other couples with “the perfect family,” for us one girl just older by a tad than a little brother, made us smile. Ibis in a marsh and pelicans on a wharf reminded us of many birding adventures. And, as for your comfort zone, having a relatively mild time, as in no driving in Florence, nor bandits at the Puerto Rican waterfall, nor gypsies on a Granadan hillside made for giggles about past experiences. New experiences mixed with memories made our connection glisten.

Difference from our usual, finding our way together in new places, and re-experiencing our life together. Promise me we will plan another getaway soon. I love you, Valentine!

Sylvia

Dear Eddie,

I was wrong. Yes, again, for sure. Oh, how I hate to be wrong, much less to own and say the words out loud. There was no way around the fact. And, crap, if I didn’t again learn something new about how can we repair breaches in the pleasure of our life together.

I was wrong—undeniably so. There was a half loaf of bread—the kind that is 4 WW points a slice that had to go to the grand kids and out of our house. There was also a bag of Hungarian Hot Wax peppers that had to go to their house, too. It was a hectic day. I asked the kids to stop by and collect said bag. Grandson popped in, made a pit stop, and a snack stop, and looked for the bag on the counter—no bag, so he said. I asked/sent you to the kitchen to help him find the goods, and neither of you (guys) could find it. I swooped into the kitchen—fussing that everyone was helpless—what in the world was their problem? No bag—nowhere—nada—dematerialized. I was puzzled but I was Not Nice, and I was wrong. I hope you both took my apology but the episode bore some scrutiny.

I needed to think about what I actually did and said. I needed to repeat to myself, “I was wrong.” Like Balki in the old sit-com Perfect Strangers, I needed to grovel on the ground and repeat, “I am lower than pig sweat.” I needed to tell you that I accepted the responsibility for my actions, being very specific about my shame, and expressing my heartfelt regret. You just laughed this time. You love me. But there are times when there are big deals.

I thought about times when you have been wrong, and you have thought long and hard about the issue and about your behavior. You have revisited the details, the underlying feelings, maybe the fears, and you have shared that information with me. I always appreciate the simple “I’m sorry,” but I experience being cherished when you thoughtfully consider the whys and your wishes to behave differently.

Repairs are not excuses. I always want an explanation. I felt better when I figured out the mystery. I had taken the bread and peppers to the car to take to the kids when I picked up Granddaughter for Girl Scouts. Girl Scouts was cancelled. Next morning—Voila! But explanations are for me. The thinking and voicing is a gift for you and for us. Thank you for the attention you give to fixing the times when you are wrong. Thank you for giving me room to dig myself out of the dog house and find the real issue, whether plain old tired or fears or pinches.

We learned long ago that when there is way more heat in an interaction than the facts warrant, we better look more deeply and not just change the subject. My new learning is that I feel very loved by you when you examine a wrong incident and share your learning with me. I hope I show you that you are very much loved when I examine my own wrongs and believe my mea culpa. I know every breach doesn’t need the full treatment; we would be exhausted. I do know, however, that we are worth much more than the embarrassment of my bad behavior over a vanishing grocery bag. I love you.

Sylvia

Dearest Eddie,

You moved a lot of flowers today. Specialty cut flower grower is a descriptive mouthful but I prefer to call you a purveyor of smiles. As I watch our teenaged granddaughter climb the silks this evening, you may still be asleep in your chair. You earned the nap after cutting flowers for 12 hours yesterday and being the face of Dr. Rob’s Garden at our farmers’ market all day. I would bet though that you got up and went back to your garden. Why?

You told me you were mentally reframing your why as you worked this week after Mint scolded you for overspending your Seeds budget, again. I know that little Eddie loved the plant hustle of Robertsons’ Greenhouse of yore, and Papa Eddie is not raking in the bucks. I am happy that you are occupied with something you love, organized in your days, and, certainly, exercised—all good things. Watching you, I have decided that smiles are your real why.

Flowers make you smile. I love to hear you call from the garden, “Come see.” You delight in bringing smiles to our life. Orchids to the dorm, corsages to dances, calendula in Calgary, caladium in Dallas, the fence rose war in Bartlesville; flower memories are part of our glue. Now, it is orchids on the mantel, roses in the kitchen, larkspur in the bathroom, and even zinnias in cut glass in the “event quality” porta-jons at our anniversary bash. Flowers and your smiles go together in my life, and I am grateful!

Your flowers make many people smile. In our market community, people react emotionally to the beautiful things you bring. Even if they don’t always buy, they stop, comment, enjoy, share memories. We hear tales of “my grandmother’s spider plants,” “my dad’s glads,” “the dahlias we had back home.” Your flowers access the flowers of memory, and people smile. Little kids get freebies from Dr. Rob, and often they return, calling you by name. Customer families come by the garden to visit and pick. Former students appear with mates and kids and dogs. New residents make friends around the flower stall. People with whom we taught VBS many years ago show up and share smiles once more.

Your flowers allow your customers to gift others. “My grandma will love these; she raised me.” “I’m decorating for a wedding.” “It’s dance recital day.” “My cousin loves flowers, and she can’t garden anymore.” “My wife really loved the bunch I bought from you last week.” “I’m getting one for my neighbor and one for me.” And they smile.

I am delighted that smiles have become what you would call a worthy why for all your hard work.  I am sure we will still count our dollars like you did the quarters in the box when you were a child. We will still be scolded by Mint. We will still lament the greenhouse propane bill. But we have a new shared understanding that the smiles generated by the beauty from your garden are  a perfectly adequate why for all the dedication you give. I love you, purveyor of smiles.

Sylvia