Briefcase on the Kitchen Table

First off, I want to apologize for not writing the last few weeks. My family and I have been dealing with the rapid decline of my grandmother’s health followed by her unexpectedly quick passing. It is the first family death I have had to deal with in the “adult” world being away from my family, not able to jump in the car and run home because of obligations in St. Louis, and arranging to get all of the make-up work I missed done in the past week. However, we are finally on the other side of it all and, devoid of the normal wit, I must take a moment to say what a relationship and a marriage can mean when going through an extreme loss.

Avery, unfortunately, has seen me through a great deal of loss in our still-young marriage and relationship. Just months before we started dating in high school, my grandfather decided that, after a long fight with diabetes, he wanted to go into hospice and passed away in his home three days later. Then, in between my sophomore and junior years of college, my very, very dear aunt died after a three-year battle with ovarian cancer. To put this in context, this was not a see-her-for-holidays-and-weddings kind of aunt. Growing up I saw my Aunt Marcia nearly every single week and most often it was several times a week. My sister and I took a semi-secret trip out to California with my Aunt Marcia and my Tante (Aunt Ranelle) so that they could get married just nine months before Marcia passed away. My family truly lives by the “it takes a village” strategy to raising children, so all of my cousins (first, second, third, and yes even fourth), aunts, uncles, and grandparents are extremely close. Losing my Aunt Marcia was the single most painful moment of my life thus far. And then there came the call two weeks ago that my grandmother, after a slow decline from congestive heart failure, diabetes, and dementia, was not expected to make it through the weekend. She was supposed to be in a rehabilitation home for just a few weeks so then she could go home with my grandfather when she suddenly contracted pneumonia. I never guessed when I saw her just a couple of weeks before that it would be the last time I saw her.

So, all of this is to say that Avery has been my companion through too much sorrow, but he has been a trooper. He has held me while I sobbed, he stuck by my father when we went home as my dad processed the loss of his mother, and, when my Aunt Marcia died, he came to the hospital and sat with me until I was able to get myself to leave her room and  then held my hand through the entire celebration of her life. He has seen me in my absolute rawest form.

When we start a relationship with someone, we never really know what twists and turns that person’s life will take or what we will be along for the ride for. Avery had no idea when we first started dating that in our first eight years together, he would stand by me as I attended three funerals of very close family members and another handful of funerals for great aunts, great uncles, and other close family friends. I told him on the car ride to Ft. Wayne that I was sorry, that I bet he never considered that a part of being my significant other would involve so many sad occasions. Avery sat quietly for a minute and said, “Christine, being there means being there even for the tough stuff.” I have moments every day that Avery makes me laugh, smile,  and roll my eyes, and all of those moments are very special and important. However, it is the tough stuff that is the true test to any relationship, the climbing-wall of the relationship obstacle course. And for yet another time, Avery hoisted me over his shoulder and went over that climbing wall for both of us, all the while making it clear that he wouldn’t have it any other way.