Yesterday morning, I sat down to compose an anniversary piece. A tribute, you might say, to the last 365 days of my life, and the man who shared them with me as my husband. But as I stared at the screen, I decided it is perhaps more important - to me, at least - to tell the blunt and honest truth.
This year has been at times the most difficult year of my life.
The first year of marriage is not perfect, and from what I've been told - repeatedly - it never is. Oh yes, everyone and their dog has been lining up all year long to assure me of the old adage, "The first year of marriage is the hardest." And yes, I did think we would be the exception to this. After all, we'd been together for four and a half years before we got married, and living together for almost the same amount of time. What would really be that different?
I can't speak for my husband, but for me, even the first month, things were different. They were better. Soooo much better! We flirted, we laughed, we did things for each other, I felt so much closer to him, everything was new & fun like when we first got together, & all the little things we (or I) griped about before seemed so insignificant & pointless. I was so excited to be that annoying newlywed couple who post all these pictures of themselves, & constantly remind everyone that they got married this year, like: "Happy 4th of July from the newlyweds!" "First Halloween as Mr & Mrs!" "It's Thanksgiving in the Elwood house!"
It was the happiest I ever remember feeling.
Before I go on, here's a bit of background: my husband sustained substantial injuries in Iraq in 2007 (before I knew him) which ultimately led to him being discharged from the army. Since then, his condition had improved to the point where his doctor(s) had cleared him to go back to work full-time, and he found a job first with a factory in town, then with an irrigation company nearby. In early June of last year, he started coming home from work in more and more pain. By the end of the month, he would come home, shower, and by sidelined on the couch for the remainder of the evening because the pain in his knees & back was so severe that he couldn't do anything else. Flash forward to the end of August when his injuries had worsened to the point where he was forced to quit his job.
The next several months were spent reassessing our priorities, and struggling to find balance in our new situation - both financially & personally. I knew my husband was struggling with his new limitations & worried about the future. And, like me, when there is something heavy weighing on him, he pulls into himself and pushes the rest of the world away. I know this because, like I said, I do the same thing. Somewhere in this time, I guess I began to withdraw from the people and things around me, too. I went to work, I came home, a couple nights a week I went to the gym. I rarely reached out to my friends, and when I did, I almost never told them the truth about how things were going. I knew it made people uncomfortable, & everyone had their own important things to deal with; there was nothing they could do to help our situation, so why burden them with it? It was what it was, and I just had to keep pushing on until it got better.
Little by little, however, the thought began to creep into my mind;
what if it doesn't get better?
I wanted to talk to my husband about my concerns and how I was feeling, but I felt like I had no right. He was the one going through this, not me. He was the one in pain all the time, not me. He was the one who had all this thrust upon him and so much else taken away all at once, not me. What possible reason could I have to ask for his sympathy? (Please note, these were all my thoughts, never his) So, I sought out counseling sessions through a fantastic program provided by my work's health insurance. Counseling had helped me so much in the past, I was sure it would help me now. Unfortunately, the counselor & I just didn't "click", and, rather than seek out someone else, I became even more disheartened, resigning myself to the harsh reality that I would have to deal with everything on my own.
It was the loneliest I ever remember feeling.
I think it was November when my husband posted an update on our situation on Facebook, & my friend Tara reached out to me. She told me a coworker of hers was part of a support group for people whose spouses or loved ones suffer from PTSD, chronic pain, TBI, or other military-related injuries and hardships. I went to one meeting, and within the first 15 minutes, I felt a weight lifting off my shoulders. Hearing these women - these real, emotional, strong women - sharing experiences so similar to mine made me feel like I wasn't alone after all, and - as trite as it may sound - renewed my hope that things really could get better. I was so relieved, I cried. A lot.
The new year saw us going out with friends again, being more involved in each others' lives, and a revitalized intimacy in our relationship. I earned a promotion with my job that allowed me to work in different positions throughout the day. My husband & I were both so excited for this new opportunity; it was going to be more work, and of a different kind, but I loved it, and was anxious to meet the goals they set for me. For that month, I firmly believed that 2016 would, in fact, be better. But...
On Valentine's Day, we noticed our beloved cat, Selene hadn't been eating, and had been getting sick. She always loved her food, so we took her to the vet who told us she had a baseball-sized, cancerous tumor in her abdominal area. It had come on so quickly, he said she likely had only a week left at the most, and the chances of her surviving an attempt at surgery were very slim. We could watch her waste away in pain, or we could let her go in peace.
Tuesday, February 16th, we took our little Selene back to the vet, wrapped her in a red fleece blanket - one she always snuggled into my lap with - kissed her, hugged her, and loved on her, and she passed away cuddled up on my lap. No more pain, no more suffering. My husband and I were both shaking with tears and grief. She was our baby, and she was gone. It felt like someone had carved a piece out of my heart, and I know that feeling will never go away, for either of us. Not a day goes by that we don't miss her little face, her purring, her kisses, and her attitude, but her loss forced us to lean on each other again for support, to talk to each other like we used to. I don't think either of us would have gotten through it without the other. And, of course, our dog :)
Even though we'd never really settled on a date at this point (he wanted to wait until we'd been married at least a year, I wanted to start trying after the new year), we decided to put off having a family. Despite the fact that I knew it was the right decision for us, it was a hard pill for me to swallow. I had reached a point where I was ready to be a mother, and it was what I wanted for me in my life. But that's the thing about being married; it's not just you anymore, and it's not just your life. After losing Selene, however, we were able to reach a compromise (after much debating, a couple all-out fights, and of course more tears) and agreed to wait until our life is a little more settled. Another adage I've heard more time than I can count over the last year: "If you wait until you're ready to have a baby, or until you can afford it, you'll never have one."
--exhausted sigh & eye roll--
So yes, the first year of marriage has definitely been hard. But in all fairness to marriage, it didn't exactly get the chance to put its best foot forward before life came out of nowhere and knocked it on its ass. The point is, we got back up. We toughed it out. This weekend was the first time we were able to talk about Selene without one of us - ok, me - sobbing uncontrollably. We took a trip to the Henry Doorly Zoo on Saturday and ate Hardee's. Twice. Last night, we got dressed up and went out for dinner & a movie, then finished the night with the Game of Thrones premier. Today we'll eat last year's wedding cake, order a Hot Stuff pizza, and watch Outlander. We're slowly figuring out our future, & just how different it looks now as compared to a year ago.
Our marriage did get off to a rough start, and we've both said if we hadn't had four and a half years of practice with each other before all this, it's hard to say what would have happened. I'm still a little sad we don't have more pictures of our first year as husband as wife, but we still have year two, year three, year 50 :) We still have issue to work through (as all couples do), and I'm sure we still have any number of trials ahead of us, but I'm feeling better about our future than I have in a while. And if we survived this year, I'm pretty sure we got this.
Happy Anniversary, husband!
I will love you when you drive me crazy
I will respect you when we disagree
I will support you when bad times come our way
And I will always remember
How grateful I am
To have you by my side
