“I, Brenda, take you, Jim, to be my wedded husband. And, I do promise and covenant before God and these witnesses to be your loving and faithful wife, in plenty and in want, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live.”
It was thirty years ago on Tuesday that I said those vows to my husband at the Presbyterian Church in Luverne and he said them back to me with 200 of our dearest friends looking on.
That sickness and health clause has been haunting us since I was diagnosed with anal cancer two years ago. In that time we’ve had lots of “plenty and want and joy and sorrow” — and time to wonder if we were nearing the end of the time that we both shall live.
Apparently not.
On July 5 I learned that early indicators suggest the tumor is gone.
That’s right — gone.
The treatment worked. I’m not sure who was more surprised, Jim and I or the doctors.
I’m not “cancer-free” — who knows if there’s a renegade cancer cell or two lurking somewhere — but, for now, I’m “tumor-free.”
I praise God for the healing I’ve received. And I thank all of you for your prayers. But the healing that has come is far greater than just physical healing from cancer.
One of the first things that happened when I was diagnosed is that I stopped fighting with my husband. He became so sweet and kind and patient that I felt silly trying to pick fights with him. (Confession: I start the fights at our house.)
We began to hug every single morning and night.
More than once we sobbed like babies in each other’s arms wondering if “this was it.”
We both got less busy and spent a whole lot more time together walking, talking, drinking coffee and praying.
He stopped caring that I don’t put my dirty dishes in the dishwasher. I stopped caring that he leaves the toilet seat up.
He drove me to appointments, made my soup, brought me pills, fluffed my pillows, and did laundry and dishes.
He says the thought of losing me to cancer has made him less self-centered. I agree. I think the cancer journey has probably made me more self-centered but I’m hoping it’s temporary.
When we stood in front of the church as a starry-eyed couple 30 years ago, we of course had no idea what we were getting into.
(I’ve always said getting married is like jumping off the high diving board and hoping there is water in the pool.)
It’s been a wonderful 30 years, and the last two have been the best because Jim and I have learned to appreciate each other so much more.
How could we know that the “sickness” part of sickness and health could be such a blessing?
Happy 30th anniversary, Sweetie. And, God willing, we’ll have 30 more.