A Proper Toast To Decades Of Love And Marriage (From An Unqualified Source)

My marriage ended three years ago with an email, and the reasons for it that eluded me then elude me now, only now there’s less urgency, less anger and less hurt.

The fear of a dire outcome for my children seems to be so unwarranted now. They adapted as so many of my divorced friends insisted they would. God, they were so young. As it turns out, their flexibility trumped my wisdom, or so it seems.

I bring this to you as my family celebrates marriage milestones both rare and mind-boggling: my parents and their parents, married a combined 127 years, and married on the same day, 23 years apart.

Horace and Madlyn Knowles were married in 1940 with 87 cents (about 15 bucks allowing for inflation) in their pockets, which they proudly remind us of on family occasions. Each left school as kids to go to work out of necessity. They weren’t baristas: my grandmother sewed in a sweatshop in Philadelphia and my grandfather was delivered to a stranger’s farm just so he could work for his food, as his parents couldn’t provide enough of the essentials for all the brothers and sisters. Once married they were soon to be separated by war, as my grandfather first fought to keep German U-boats out of the Delaware Bay, then later, taking the fight to them in Europe.

We had a big 75th anniversary party planned, but then on the Fourth of July, Grandma Madlyn fell, breaking her once-broken-already hip and her leg, quite badly. There was the surgery — the insertion of plates, rods and cables — and then a frantically arranged room at a senior rehab facility.

I think we underestimated her will and strength, because a few days later she was ready for “her” party. She didn’t forget Horace, but there’s never been any confusion about who rules the roost, if you will. Pop is different now. He doesn’t see or hear particularly well, and more often then not is confused. He asks us over and over “what am I supposed to do now?” Sometimes he asks after taking a bite of food. He forgets he is supposed to chew.

So the party went down in a conference room of the rehab center. My sister and her daughters fussed over Grandma Madlyn’s hair and made her as party-pretty as possible under the circumstances. Horace came in on his walker, strong and with a clear focus, beaming as he most assuredly did 75 years before.

There was champagne, and the drinking of champagne always seems to start with a toast. The family asked me to deliver it. I supposed they asked me because when I’m on TV, I can let it fly. But this wasn’t a television studio, and I wasn’t facing down the impersonal lens of the camera, hiding under makeup and talking about clouds. This was a small room and these were the people I care about the most and I was to talk about marriage. And I was the least qualified person in the room to talk about that.

I did my best, praising them and congratulating them for all those years. Near the end, I relied on my usual crutch of sarcasm, begging them to live a few more years so “we” could set the record for most years married. I drank some more champagne.

I owed them something better, and maybe this is a better stab at it:

Let’s raise our glasses to celebrate a love story that began with two teenagers with more adoration in their hearts than money in their pockets. Your love spanned generations, not torn apart by war, depressions and recessions, or the peaks and valleys of everyday family life. The world has changed so much over these years and yet here you are. ‘From humble beginnings come great things,’ the old saying goes. You’ve proved it so true. Thank you for the example you set of how to love and to be loved. May God bless you on your special day.

It sounds a little cheesy to me just reading that aloud to my computer. But what is love, if it isn’t a little bit cheesy? It’s silly and sad and joyous and mad. I remember it all, fondly, and reflectively.

All parties end, and when this one began to expire, it was time for the two old lovers to say goodbye. Grams to her hospital bed, and Pop back home alone in a place that was theirs, not his. Madlyn stopped her wheelchair, as Horace leaned in for the kiss that shocked her as much as it did us. They shared a little giggle and went on their way.

Romance and love, it seems, don’t have to age.

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