NINETEEN SEVENTY NINE

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My parents were married on December 1st, 1979. In the photographs my mother looks exactly like Baby from Dirty Dancing, brimming with a fresh-faced youthful glow, just gorgeous curls, and dizzying smiles. The wedding was in Edmonton, two years before they moved west, and it started to snow as they left the reception, these thick white snowflakes swirling all around them like a movie. They were the sort of happy you could not write; nothing did them justice.

I remember asking my mother, last December, what she thought kept them together all these years. “The balance between adaptability and steadfastness”, she told me. “Life changes all the time, and often unexpectedly. So do we, from our interests, careers, homes, money, and health. Your loyalty, love and forgiveness for each other have to be unmovable despite everything around you moving constantly.”

These were words that had been battle tested, I knew she spoke from experience, but they were no doubt underrated, as all good advice is, and far more difficult to navigate in the moment than talk about later on.

In the world of change, I doubt any of us could have foreseen the immense toll this pandemic would take over the past year. From fear and uncertainty, to emotional and mental exhaustion, death, physical stress, jobs lost, families and friends separated by distance, new rules and protocols, life redefined. This tumultuous time required a level of commitment to weathering the storm that tested even the purest, most laissez faire, and enlightened among us.

During early days of the initial quarantine, when so much was still unknown, my father announced to my mother and I that he believed impact from this would bring marriages closer. That couples with good foundations would deepen their bond. That those who had let time pass them by, or those who had been full on with kids and work would rediscover affection for each other. That amidst the chaos we would find a renewed appreciation for our relationships. Details we were previously too caught up to notice would light up in front of us, devotion we previously took for granted would come sharply into focus. I loved this idea, and I held tightly to it, as hopeful and optimistic as those two in 1979.

Effects from the pandemic are still at play, both big picture and day to day. I know there are marriages that did not last through the year, maybe already on the brink and pushed too far to recover. Even with effort some things are not meant to survive. I suspect though, as we ease toward the future, that my father was right. Through the difficulties, I imagine there were couples who found their way back to one another or managed somehow to stay as strong as they had been. I bet humility abounded, and so many chose patience and kindness with the ones they loved all around the world.

It probably will not make the news, the statistics of how many marriages fought hard to come through the other side of this, how much love was born anew, or strengthened from these days, but this week we celebrate my parents forty-first wedding anniversary, and it is a beautiful reminder of the goodness overcoming everything we have faced. I hope you know couples like this; I hope, if you are in a relationship, that you are one.

Snow falling over two crazy kids, hand in hand, not letting go, not for anything, the world changing all around them.

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