marital bliss

'What do we need it for?" one of my students asks. We've been discussing the efficacy of marriage, analyzing academic Stephanie Coontz's argument that marriage is not frail (or devolving), it's just changing, as it always has historically. I'm surprised at the skepticism in the room. Normally a discussion of marriage produces the usual inanity about white horses, grooms that sweep a girl off her feet and all the lovely children who will follow. Despite the fact that women are "liberated," old traditions die hard--many young women still seem to want the fairy book version of marriage. But today is different, this class is different. I have a room full of critics. This thought makes me smile.

My student's question--"why do we need it"--echoes through my brain as we consider the election results for Referendum 71, a measure which narrowly passed this week in Washington State. An analysis of voting patterns reveals that once beyond the narrow corridors of liberalism in King, Snohomish, Thurston, Whatcom, Skagit, Jefferson and Challum counties, the rest of the state (including Pierce county) voted decidedly against gay rights, a move which upholds traditional, conservative notions about who should or should not have the blessings of the government for their unions. Not that Referendum 71 gives the go ahead to gay marriage--it does not. Instead, it tries to put gay unions on the same footing as heterosexual ones in terms of the myriad of social and political benefits heterosexual couples receive in exchange for toting the line and fulfilling mainstream societal and religious expectations. If your partnership is a marginalized one, then perhaps a desire for marriage makes sense, or at least some assemblance of marital rights. Perhaps my own skepticism about marriage is really a privilege--because I have access to it I can be critical of it?

When I get to Mom's we discuss Referendum 71, or rather I talk and Mom attempts to understand. It's hard to tell how much of what I am saying is making sense to her. Lorna is there in the background, doing her crossword puzzle (I try to remember to bring the daily Seattle Times and hand off the back page of section B to her, the page with her puzzle). She isn't saying anything--I imagine my words are controversial to her. Lorna is very religious, though not a literalist like her husband. I am wishing she'd join our chat, as I want to know what she thinks. But she stays quiet.

I try to broaden the conversation so I ask--"If you were no longer married Lorna, would you get married again?" At this, Lorna laughs, loudly--"No, no my dear," she says, "no more marriage for me." I turn to Mom, looking for a response. I already know what Mom thinks of marriage--there's a reason why she never got married after my father was killed. But I'm curious about Mom's reaction to Lorna. There's a big huge grin on her face--Mom is nearly laughing. I am already laughing. All three of us know what we are talking about--marriage is so hard why do it again?

Whenever I ask Mom about her early years as a married person, her immediate response is consistent--a shaking of her head and then "we had no money." Sometimes she actually frowns. And sometimes she admits her distaste for sex as young married woman. Because she continues to describe those marital years negatively, I have drawn the conclusion that it must be true--that this "fact" must be so embedded in her brain that, despite her dementia, she knows how to answer. So I am more than curious when I find a letter addressed to her friend "Vi" which dates to late 1950 and early 1951. There's no date on the letter itself, but from the things Mom discusses in the letter (as well as the postscript which is written several months later) I can approximate the date. I'm not sure who Vi is--Mom has not been able to tell me about her. Not yet. In any event, it's an intimate letter, one that would be exchanged between close friends. I am guessing that Vi was a workmate at Fredrick & Nelson, as the letter refers to a mutual acquaintance, Kit--my mom's good friend and colleague from her days at F&N. Mom spends the first page oohing and aahing over Vi's new baby, telling her that "nothing in the world could be more wonderful." Part of the next page Mom is apologizing for having missed Vi's send off--apparently she and her husband, Lynn, left on a ship for Japan and Mom, coming from work, was delayed, arriving at the port of departure some thirty minutes after the boat had left. Mom talks about how she couldn't find a cab and chose to walk (or rather run) and how, as a result, she arrived "puffing and painting at the pier," a situation Mom would have deplored, as she hates to sweat or rather perspire, as she calls it.

On page two, Mom shifts into her own life, beginning with her statement that she is still working at F&N but "not for long" because as she sees it "it's time I settled down to being a wife, homemaker and mother." The only thing "holding up my retirement" is her and Dad finding a piece of property to buy, a place to begin their nest. She assures Vi that "I'm truly looking forward to it."

At this juncture, I have to stop reading, as I am truly astonished. Mom has always maintained that she was reluctant to leave her job at F&N and that she worked right up to the birth of Peter. Mom's statements to Vi seem to contradict this--Mom can't wait to stop working and get pregnant, ordinary goals that many women of her day would have professed. When I read aloud this part of the letter to Mom, she just smiles, a gesture which seems to admit the inconsistency I point to while at the same time admitting nothing. It's clear by Mom's smile, however, that those years were pleasurable to her. Why has she never said so?

When I get to the next paragraph, I am truly astonished as Mom begins to talk about her marriage--she's been married to my father for three years by the time she writes this letter. She tells Vi that "nothing exciting has happened in our little lives" but that there's lots of "simple happiness." "I never knew marriage could be so satisfying," Mom continues, "and so full of companionship." Then Mom really waxes on:

"The most delightful time of day is the conversation that usually begins about 11:00, after an evening of study [my father is still going to the UW to get his undergraduate degree after the war], over a cup of coffee and sometimes I'm afraid way to late. It's wonderful to have someone to share everything with. My goodness, this letter is developing into a lecture on marital bliss...I hadn't intended that, but I know that you know what I mean. Just from the little you have said about Lynn and you, I know that you experience this fine sharing relationship, too."

By the end of page three, Mom types a postscript where she apologizes to Vi for not having mailed the letter and then tells her that, in the months that have ensued since she first typed the letter, "so much has happened": they found "a lovely piece of property" in Medina and built a "little house." Saturday they are going to "christen it," she reports, but doesn't say just what that christening might consist of. Whenever my husband and I spoke of "christening" in the early days of our marriage, we meant one thing--sex and an open bottle of champagne. You'd be surprised how many places we've "christened" in this way, though I am omitting all details. I very much doubt Mom meant either of these things--she hated sex (per her own self report) and never drinks, though my father liked his beer.

Mom's letter is revealing, as it suggests a schism between Mom's experience of her early marriage and her latter recollections of it. And it's not just the dementia--since my teenage years, when I knew to ask and to observe, Mom has been consistent about seeing marriage as a "burden." Her many words of advice often centered on protecting me from the perils of marriage, urging me to finish school, get a career, buy a house and then, maybe, think about marriage.

My own recollection of my parent's marriage was that it was difficult, often acrimonious. While I have many images of them sitting at either end of the kitchen table, amiably discussing business--meaning some difficult decision that had to be made in my father's real estate career--I have just as many or rather more of them arguing fiercely, arguing to the bloody end, whatever that might be. Knowing what I do now about my parent's personalities--their inability to give in, compromise later in the marriage--they would have been formidable foes. When I asked Mom about this (years ago), she said--"Yes, I felt strongly about a few things your father decided." Well that's an understatement--there were many things bringing on disagreement, the most poignant being my brother Peter and his "bad" behavior. That topic elicited screaming and crying; as a teenager, this was very disconcerting. To this day, my brother Eric and I are sure they would have divorced over Peter, though Mom was spared this humiliation by Dad's death. Still, I'm not sure. Whenever confronted by a couple on the verge of divorce, Mom always counters with--"can't they work it out" or "can't they stay together for the kid's sake" or "that's a stupid decision economically." Always. Her response is the same, no matter how dire the circumstance. My own crumbling marriage years ago was case and point: Mom never saw a life for me outside of my marriage. The pain for me in this was great.

Mom began her life as a married woman at the Bethany Church and then later consummated it at the Cougar Creek Lodge, Granite Falls (I found the reservation card for "Mr and Mrs. Paul Schuler," listing the night as 9/27/48, the day of my parent's wedding--I can't believe she saved that card!)). Her marriage ended tragically, with my father's death in an accident. What happened in-between is a mystery, will remain a mystery. My father isn't here to ask and my mother is not a reliable source. Even before her Alzheimer's, Mom could not be depended on to speak the "truth," so to speak. She's been far more concerned with "appearances"--how her life might read to her audience. It's only been of late that Mom has even agreed to talk about her earlier self--death is a motivator. Her intermittent tears these days when recalling certain aspects of her past attest to this "regret" and humiliation, particularly surrounding my father and Mom's other two lovers, Tommy and Bob. So I suppose I should be grateful that at least she was able to say this--that marriage is hard and should not be entered into lightly. Her words kept me from marrying until I was thirty-four, late in years, even for today's world. Back in Mom's time, I would have been a spinster.

When I get ready to leave Mom and the Mirabella and our marriage discussion, Mom asks, "Where is my head?" I am stunned by her words, not sure of what she is saying. Lorna is not ruffled, however, as this seems to be something Mom has asked before. Lorna says--"I do not know, my dear, but mine is right here." Then Mom asks,"Where are my legs?" Lorna replies smoothly in her musical tones, her voice rising with a gentle crescendo at the end of each sentence--"I do not know...did they go for a walk?" Lorna and I laugh then, we can't help it. It's a raucous laugh, uncontrolled, necessary. And Mom joins in too. But I can't tell if she's understood the humor--if she's laughing with us because our laughter is contagious or whether she's laughing at herself because she sees the absurdity of what she's just said.

And it's then that I understand something about Mom, how she's getting through this demolition of her "head"--walking a fine line between sanity and insanity. What must it be like to be Mom, to not be able to depend on your own brain, to wonder what has happened to your "head"--to not know literally where it is? Memories, happenings are fluid for Mom: nothing is beyond the reach of reconstruction, renovation. An answer she gives today may be a different answer tomorrow. Getting through the present is dependent on making story, making use of the past. Nothing is sacred, beyond the dissolution of her synapses. Whatever she can grasp a hold of, communicate in desperation, is a victory for Mom--the "truth" is immaterial. In this respect, I've waited too long, let too many years go by before chronicling Mom's life.

Anything is better than silence, being unable to speak or write or sign. Mom is nearly there--a world of sound but no voice. Her Alzheimer's will win in the end.

Deeply, a mother's daughter
--this is a lifewithmom--