“Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance
-Jane Austen

Ah, marriage.

Smoky Mountain News columnist Lew Garnett not too long ago wrote a heartfelt column for this newspaper in which he eloquently described the final moments of his 10-year attempt at wedded bliss, finding himself alone in a courtroom where a “black-robed stranger was examining the legalized remnants of my most intimate relationship.” Very moving, indeed.

It may be no consolation, Lew, but you and your ex have entered a club - there are 1.7 million divorces annually in this nation, roughly half the number of marriages. That’s 3.4 million new divorcees entering the club each year. According to the latest estimates, 43 percent of all marriages today will terminate by the pen of a black-robed stranger. Another 26 percent will hang on, despite their unhappiness.

Some see divorce as dark and ugly. Others see it as a new beginning. I prefer to see the bright side. We live in an era where people have a right to terminate an unhappy relationship and seek a new one. I don’t know what is so wrong with that.

I know one man who would rather be miserably single than miserably married.

“Misery is like a contagious disease,” he says. “It infects everyone around you. So why stay married if you’re miserable?”

This is a man who’s been married 31 years. Well, that’s an aggregate of two, nine, two, six and twelve.
Yes, he’s been to the altar five times in his 62 years on planet earth. That’s right, four divorces and five marriages, and still going strong.

Before you pass judgement, think twice. Society has a knack of attaching stigma to people who didn’t succeed the first or second time around. By the time someone has been thrice divorced, it conjures up images of irresponsibility, drunkenness, physical abuse, infidelity and more. After four, the stories get better.

But that’s not always the case. People make mistakes in judgement, or there’s absence of chemistry and, well ... just plain bad luck.

But the man I speak of considers himself the luckiest man alive, despite his four divorces.

You see, he fell in love with his dream girl way back when he was a little boy, like so many of us who have fantasized about that perfect set of eyes, that perfect touch, that perfect beat of the heart.

He first married Betty Jo in 1960, a teen-age beauty out of heaven itself who gave him a baby boy. But beauty does not a marriage make. One day, before his child was a year old, he came home from work and found the house an empty shell. Betty Jo had moved on to greener pastures.

Devastated by his loss and rocked with emotional upheaval, he stumbled upon Grace, who had just became divorced as well, both needy, both blind to their incompatibilities, rushing to the altar before learning they were no more meant for each other than Mike Tyson and Sister Teresa.

Along came Emma Joan, a beautiful brunette in need of a father for her three small children. He not only filled the bill, they had a daughter together. After that, his son by Betty Jo, now 13, using drugs and a psychological disaster, came to join the new family. Pressures mounted beyond capacity for them both - money, job, family, demands upon demands that could not be met which led to disharmony, fights and a dysfunctional environment for everyone involved until the black-robed one settled the matter.

Not to worry. He would still seek his fantasy girl.

Deborah was educated, smart, attractive and willing to take on a thrice divorced man, now playing the role of Mr. Mom with custody of his little girl. The checklist was perfect. They had a spectacular wedding, paid for by her daddy. That was the best part of the whole marriage. It was all downhill from there. Though they seemed to have so much in common, they didn’t have chemistry. After six years, despite counseling, despite trying to love each other, they simply didn’t.

Burned and stigmatized, he was determined never to marry again.

Enter, Suzanne. Beautiful, alluring French-Canadian, twice-divorced hair-dresser and artist with whom he seemingly had nothing in common, except: chemistry! And boy, what chemistry.

The checklist didn’t pass muster. They were defensive and cautious, swearing not to let the affair go any farther for fear of another disaster. They came from totally opposite backgrounds, different religions, different philosophies of marriage until one day, after two years of dating, they had a squabble which changed everything.

They talked of living arrangements. “The man takes care of the woman,” she said. “It was the way I grew up.”

“No,” he replied. We each work and contribute to the expenses.”

“I won’t do it,” she held fast. “You want me, then take care of me.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I’m worth it!”

Three days later, after storming out the door in a rage, he realized he was in love like he’d never been in love before. That Monday, he returned to her on bended knee, saying, “You are worth it.”

He’s never been sorry. Twelve years hence, the 14th of June, he and Suzanne will be celebrated their twelfth year of happiness in a union that will undoubtedly last until death does them part. For each, it meant a willingness to try and try again, until they got it right.

In truth, he’s been married to Suzanne for 41 years, since the day he stood in front of the alter with Betty Jo. For you see, she has been his fantasy girl ever since he was that little boy. All the others were imposters.

Perfect eyes; perfect touch; perfect beat of the heart

To Suzanne, he dedicates this column.

Happy anniversary.

My love.

(Marshall Frank is a retired Miami-Dade Law Enforcement Officer and the author of two police novels. He can be reached at mlf283@aol.com)

 

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