January 31. This marks my parents’ wedding anniversary. Seventy years ago today they tied the knot. Mama was a Girl Scout, Daddy a Marine…they knew their knots. This one may have gotten a little frayed around the edges but still it lasted 58 years. Fifty-eight years…until the day my father died. At home in his own bed with his wife by his side.
Edie and Dick. Yin and Yang. They were a pair. And they were tied tight. Right over left and through, left over right and through. A good old fashioned square knot.
I came along late in the game but I heard the story of their wedding over and over. Mama loved to tell stories, especially if she was involved in them. And I loved all things about weddings. A pretty dress, flowers and cake that’s ten times better than any birthday cake. All that and a handsome man who will love you for EVER.
And don’t forget the PRESENTS!!!
So here’s the story AS I KNEW IT. It was a small do. An intimate gathering of family and close friends. The early afternoon reception was a simple one. Cake and coffee. Maybe some champagne. Because I can’t imagine a wedding without champagne. It was at her sister’s house. The same sister whose dress she wore. The honeymoon was a night in Manhattan. Fancy dinner. Fancy hotel. Fancy that.
Oh, and it rained.
And that’s what I was going to write. They fell in love, got married and did the ’till death do us part’ thing 58 years later. Because that was the STORY. Until I went through the folder labeled Richard. Daddy’s papers. I was looking for the menu from the restaurant. I saw it years ago and thought I’d amuse you with photographic proof of what two bucks could buy you in 1942. If memory serves me right–and these days it doesn’t aways–a full course lobster dinner plus drink.
I didn’t find the menu. But I found some interesting things. And, as I went through them, all sorts of questions began popping up.
It began with the envelope addressed to my father. It was plain white. Unadorned with anything save the simple return address. The White House. The letter inside was on matching stationery. It contained a hastily scrawled note from my father’s brother. Dated January 29. Two days before the wedding. He didn’t know if he could make it. No one was getting any time off.
There was a war going on. The whole damn world was shooting this way and that. And my uncle had a first row seat for the duration. Secret Service. OSS. Army Counter Intelligence.
He never made the wedding. Daddy’s friend stood in as his best man instead. One of the honorary uncles of my childhood. But I never put two and two together, never realized that’s why he was the best man and not my uncle. Not until I read the letter.
And then I realized there were a lot of things I didn’t know. A lot of questions I wanted to ask.
But there’s no one left to answer them.
I’ve always looked at the wedding portrait and seen my parents. Mom-and-Daddy-yin-and-yang-in-their-fancy-best. Young but old, because they came before me.
My uncle’s note sent the story I knew spinning off in another direction.
It was raining that day. Hard. Cold and blustery. Pearl Harbor was a little more than a month in the past. We declared war on Japan. Hitler declared war on us. Shock. Fear. Anger. Rage. Bravado. But happy days? I don’t think so.
I look at that photo now and see a couple of kids, 26 and 28. Just a little older than mine are today. Kids who were striving for normal when the world was going bat shit crazy around them. Kids who pledged their forevers together when there was no guarantee of tomorrow.
I think about the simple reception. Hear the undercurrents of small talk that never made it to the story. People smiling and raising a toast to the happy couple while in the back of their minds wondering….All the men in that room old enough to serve, did. Four uncles. And my Dad. The Army. The Marines. Europe. North Africa. The Pacific.
From the concentration camps to the streets of Nagasaki after the bomb.
They all served. They all came home. And they never, EVER, talked about it.
Mama was the story keeper in our house. She touched on a little of everything and told them over and over again. But like the story of her wedding, they were the bare bones, not the meat. And when I took care of her in her later years I heard them so often I stopped listening.
And I’m sorry I did. I regret they became so familiar I tuned them out. I wish I’d dug deeper.
Because she wanted to tell her story. But she didn’t know how.
And I didn’t know enough to ask the right questions.
beautiful story and so powerfully told
(your really write well)
…nudges me to ask the questions
until the story flows.
thanks for the haunting share,
Jennifer
The nudge is in me now, Jennifer. The urge to listen to what isn’t being said. And to go beyond that. xo
Oh Susie,
Your story today is beautiful and a deep truth to our hearts. Mom and Dad. The institution that formed our lives.
I filmed Mom the summer of 03 when she was here in Norway. Imagine, she decides she wanted to travel all alone across the USA and the Atlantic, sat 6 hours in the airport in Copenhagen, finally got here, and was so proud!
During the “Interview”, she was all lounged out on the deck, sitting in the cool of the shade late afternoon. It was 5 o´clock, somewhere in the world, because our grand old lady of 88 was sipping sherry. That revved her up. Story time. I have two full tapes of her life, and how she met daddy and how she became a Lobb and all the meat picking about her childhood, her parents, sisters, wedding night…but not so much about us growing up, something we must start to record, because we have some history to add here too.
They were a great pair. Never went to bed mad at anyone.
Anyway, I found the original tapes and nope have to get them made into cd´s. As they are. She broke all the rules that summer. ” your sisters said no stairs.” Up and down she went. “Your sisters said no booze.” Well, she had her sherry and loved it. she got into the tub, into the big old wooden boat the Richard T., started walking with nordic poles, and she was off, every day. At 88. It was a good summer for me too.
One comment dad made to me on the telephone in 1990 when I told mom I was coming over for two weeks, already the next week. ” I haven´t heard her scream so loud since our wedding night”! So there, maybe that was pretty good inspire of the war!
They were a pair. Happy Anniversary!
I NEVER said no booze! She loved to break the rules, as you said, and if there wasn’t one then she’d make it up just to break it any way.
I did caution her about the stairs.
She loved her trip to Norway. Loved hiking around the island with her fancy trekking poles. As you know, she used them for years after that.
As far as screaming on her wedding night…ha, now that’s part of the story she never shared with me!
I can’t wait to see the videos you shot. Please don’t edit them. I want the raw footage. Love you, sister mine. xo
Susan,
What a wonderful story and you told it so well. Thanks for sharing it with us.
You’re welcome Sue. Must thank Liv for pushing us!
What a beautiful story. I love the two pieces woven together, shared so well. Thank you.
Thank you Michele. When I began writing I didn’t know where it was going. It could have gone in a couple of directions but this is what it chose to do.
I loved your story. It reminds me so much of my own folks. You could just see them in your words. Heartfelt post.
Thank you Barb.
What a touching post, you have me in tears. Story is so important, yet we usually realize it too late. I wish I had my grandparents stories, and I am going to make an effort to get my mom’s and my inlaws stories. Thanks for sharing and for the inspiration.
Christie, my friend told me about a site you might want to check out before you get your family stories. http://www.storycorps.com She used their criteria for interviewing and told me she was AMAZED at the ‘interview’ she had with her dad.
Oh Susan!
What a beautiful story; it brought tears to my eyes. I loved the sharing between you and your sister also! It sounds like your parents were amazing people, and lived quite a life.
There is much in the history of my family that I wish I knew better, also. We had a party this summer at our family homestead; the house that once long ago was home to our grandparents and their children, then for most of my life to my grandmother, aunt and uncle, now only my uncle is left. My cousins and I sat pouring over bags and bags of photos; we recognized our family members, but there was so much life lived that we knew nothing about. Why did we assume that someone would always be around to tell the story?
We are probably the last generation to feel this, though, thanks to the internet. How’s that for a good reason to be mindful of our posts?! 🙂
xo, Anita
They were good people, Anita. Solid. As my sister reminded me, they had a rule that we were NEVER to go to bed angry. Which meant there were some late night ‘discussions’ going on.
When I was talking to my other sister about this, the stories we’ll never know, she reminded me that I’m a writer and I can just make them up. Might be fun to take some of those photos you don’t recognize and have some fun with them…
xo
Beautiful story. Untold stories take on a life of their own sometimes. My father never talked about his time in Vietnam and now he is gone, too. I wish I could have convinced him to share some of his experiences.
thank you for sharing your story.
He probably wouldn’t have talked about Vietnam with you, Jean. My son is a 3 time Iraq vet and I’ve learned that those who’ve seen combat rarely share it with those who have not.
At least the details.
But perhaps there were other aspects of that era he might’ve shared…his feelings about the draft. Politics. What it was like when he came home. And that back ground information could help flesh out the rest of the story.
As you said, it’s too late to get his story. But it’s not too late to get those of the other people in your life.
Edith and “ol’ what’s his name”. Was always too close to call your folks Mr. and Mrs., but too young and respectful to call them Edith and Dick. (Edith became Edith when I became “Mom”, the great equalizer… motherhood!)
Beautifully written. Made my heart sing. You write really really really really really really well. (But you know that……)
Love you Harriet (but you know that…) xo
So many things just aren’t at all what they seem. Sigh. I love how you told this story… hooked me right from the beginning. Great post!
Thank you, Naomi!
I LOVED this story. Amazing how we can hear one story, but there can be so much hidden that we don’t even realize until years later. Thanks for sharing!
Ah yes, Heather. Hidden depths. We’re like icebergs, but warmer. : )
What an incredibly touching “58 year” love story that your parents had together. You shared it beautifully.
You reminded me to ask more questions and dig deeper with my own parents. They celebrated 55 years married last fall. Now’s the time for me to make the time for this. I love how you cared for your mother the last few years. xo
Suzanne McRae recently posted..Winter Wonderland
Suzanne, you’re so lucky your parents are still around to tell their stories. You might want to check out http://www.storycorps.org I’ve heard wonderful things about them. xo