We didn’t make it

Linda B. Hughes, 1944-2012. (Long-ago photo by BobbaLew.)

Today’s the day. December 30th, 2017 would have been the 50th wedding anniversary of my wife and I.
My wife died April 17th, 2012. Best friend I ever had, and after my childhood I sure needed one.
My wife’s mother was a piece-of-work. The first time we met she actually growled at me, as if to say “Look what the cat dragged in!”
I can still picture it. She on her sofa, growling at me.
We weren’t expected to last a year. I’d walk out after six months, or my wife would divorce me as insane.
“What does she ever see in him?”
Yet we stayed together. The years piled up.
After 30-or-more years my wife’s mother decided I was more-or-less okay. Still questionable as a pants-wearer (“All men are scum!”); but we hadn’t split.
That mother also made life difficult for my wife. “Martyrdom,” a sister-in-law suggests. She was my wife’s brother’s first wife. She was greeted by my wife’s mother toting a shotgun.
To me that was a misunderstanding. That sister-in-law quickly became favored, as my wife’s brother, a pants-wearer (gasp), left for another.
I think my wife’s mother decided I was okay as I began trying to keep my wife alive. My wife was vastly uncomfortable driving, so I always drove her to the cancer-center in Rochester. The hospital parking-garage woulda been utterly beyond-the-pale.
So when my wife’s mother made 100, she was thrilled to see me. —Like my wife made a wonderful choice.
We wanted to marry on the 31st, but my wife’s mother would have none of it. The 31st was a Sunday, and our doing so would muck up church activities.
Plus I wanted my wife to ditch her glasses. She looked prettier without.
My wife’s mother was aghast. My wanting a pretty wife was contrary to her being the frump her mother raised.
“You may salute the bride!” the pastor said. I quickly snapped to attention, clicked my heels, and saluted.
Kissing was a disaster. We missed. What I really wanted was to escape. My wife’s mother was cracking-the-whip, butting between us.
Home we drove after a short reception at her mother’s house. My family also attended.
When we got back to my apartment, I quickly became scared-to-death. Like what had I done? My wife was hanging her clothes in my closet.
I was terrified. Could I make this work?
I guess I did. Although it was also her.
But it wasn’t 50 years. She died before me, which always begs the question: “Why am I still here? She was the one good for 100.”
I’m still somewhat devastated.

• My wife died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her immensely. That she liked me reversed my upbringing.
• “How come you always know to turn right outta this garage?” “Because that’s where the sun is!” “What if it’s raining?” “I know where the sun is supposed to be.” Similarly “How come you always know where the car is in this garage?” “Third floor, up the ramp, there’s the car.”