Every Now And Again, A Real Life Fairy Tales Comes Along

By Carol Gee

Fifty-two years ago, a young military airman and his pretty, female airwoman stood before the altar of their military base chapel. Starring into each other’s eyes they promised to love each other “for better or for worse, and in sickness and in health.”

That young, female airwoman was me. On the happiest day of our lives, those were simply words that we repeated — not something to which Ronnie and I gave much thought.

As a little girl, I’d adored those fairy tales that began with “Once upon a time”, and ended with “And they lived happily ever after.” Now, I was about to embark upon my very own.

In my fairy tale, my prince would be tall, dark and handsome. With his caramel-colored complexion and beautiful hazel eyes, Ronnie certainly was handsome. Alas, bit by bit, my fairy tale started to crumble I am a talker. Ronnie was not. I’m also a romantic. Ronnie? Again, not so much!

For example, our first Christmas together he gave me a four-slice toaster. “Baby, you know that we received three toasters as wedding gifts, right?” I asked. (How much toast did folks think we ate)?

“But honey, this particular one is better because you can toast four slices of bread at one time, instead of just two” he said, his hazel eyes flashing his excitement.

On my first birthday together, he gave me an electric can opener. Three days later, on Valentine’s Day, an electric mixer. A Sunbeam, which was top of the line at the time. All were beautifully wrapped, topped with a huge red bow.

What fairy tales don’t tell you is how challenging “from this day forward” can be, despite having found your soul mate, or bragging rights for having the latest kitchen appliances.

Moving from base to base, the two of us navigated the rigors of military life, fairly unscathed. Then, somewhere around year thirteen, an already quiet man became even more so.

He either couldn’t or wouldn’t share what was going on. After six months of ‘tip-toeing around on egg shells’ I asked whether he thought whatever was going on would change any time soon. His answer, “No,’ literally broke my heart.

A marital time-out was the result. Two and a half years passed. Through keeping in touch, we realized that we were still in love, both agreeing to give our marriage another chance.

Six years after our reunion, “in sickness and in health” reared its ugly head. “Myocardial infarction,” the doctor said, walking into the cardiac intensive care unit with Ronnie’s chart in his hand.

“A heart attack,” he clarified, noticing my confused expression. Ronnie was 44 at the time.

A second heart attack, requiring quadruple bi-pass surgery followed. As did a number of other health issues. In this role, I recounted all his health issues, treatments and meds to every doctor, nurse and anyone whom needed to know about them.

Married without children, and not having any family in the area, every time I’d waited in the hospital’s Family waiting room, I’d felt like Alice, tumbling down the rabbit hole, afraid and alone.

After multiple hospitalizations, because he was restless or in pain, I’d get him settled in the bedroom across from the master. Where later, I would burrow into the mattress of our queen-sized marital bed, finally letting fall the tears I’d held at bay throughout the day.

Seemingly overnight, I became more caregiver, than romantic partner, and wife. Grabbing my hand, one day he said, “If there ever comes a time that caring for me gets too much for you, you can just put me someplace. It would be alright.” Even now, writing this, I feel tears well up in my eyes.

Before I realized it, our marriage had spanned twenty, than thirty-five to more than 50. So, what does it take to remain together for over five decades, like we have? Alas, fairy tales don’t tell us that.

Obviously, love is important. Throw in respect, empathy and understanding. Something I failed to realize at year thirteen. If nothing else, our martial time-out made us realize that we were better together, than apart.

Two decades of military moves. A marital time-out, chronic health issues. You know, — life, somehow we’d created something that had endured. As Ronnie lay beside me in bed, and starts to snore, I sigh.

Suddenly, it hit me that I was happy. Truly happy. Perhaps, unlike I once imagined, every now and again, a ‘real life’fairy tale does come along.

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