I called my
cousin, Sharon, early this morning. She
had been sick and I hadn’t heard from her in a week or so. I could hear a bit of sadness in her voice
when she said “hello”. When I called her
I wasn’t consciously aware that today was Sharon’s 50th Wedding
Anniversary. Sometimes we get in touch with
someone because another power pushes us. Maybe today
that power was Robert Frances Smith, husband extraordinaire.
Don’t you
think there is reason to remember and celebrate an anniversary even when death
so rudely intervenes? Sharon has
bravely resumed her life and Bob wouldn’t want it any other way but that doesn’t
mean we cannot celebrate a beautiful man, an exceptional marriage, a once in a
lifetime type of love.
For a short
while over the phone, we remembered together.
Sharon remembers that the night before her
wedding she had a Manhattan and I
offered her a back-rub to help her fall asleep.
We were up in the finished attic bedroom at 91 Craig Ave. in Freeport,
Long Island. Sharon's bridal gown and our yellow bridesmaids
dresses were hung up around the room, waiting in anticipation.
My Aunt
Marie was downstairs sitting at the kitchen table visiting with Father James Meder.
He was the Chaplain in Korea who had
said the Mass and had given my Uncle Joe communion the day before he was killed
in action on Heartbreak Ridge. He had
come all the way from Kentucky to officiate at Sharon’s wedding. I
remember how nice it was to hear happy, quiet talk floating upstairs. I remember that I was impressed that Sharon
and Bob were taking this big step into marriage when I, myself, still felt like
a little child. In truth, Sharon was just
barely 20 years old and Bob, the new “man of the house”, was a mere 21!
Sharon fell
asleep before I did. I guess she was certain that she wanted to
marry this guy named Bob and her heart was at peace.
Happy 50th
Anniversary, Sharon and Bob
