'Grow Old With Me' — Secrets of a Long Marriage

In April 1968 my fiancé and I sat nervously in the rabbi's study. We didn't know him, but my mother had heard him at a bar mitzvah and fell for his classy British accent and dramatic voice. I was in college when my boyfriend proposed, and next thing we knew, my mother had booked a hotel and a wedding officiant for the month after my graduation.

I was 21 and my husband-to-be was 24. We hadn't been to any weddings yet, and I went to school in a different state, so we let my mom take charge.

"I always like to a recite a poem at weddings," the rabbi intoned. Even his speaking voice sounded operatic.

"Oh good, I brought one along…" I began. It was by one of the San Francisco Beat poets I'd read in college.

"I always recite this one," he went on.

"'Rabbi Ben Ezra' by Robert Browning.

"Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be."

"The last of life, for which the first was made."

We went along, and it was a nice ceremony. But the poem rankled.

Grow old along with me? The last of life for which the first was made? I fumed. Wasn't it a little soon to be talking about that? We were young, we had a new marriage — how premature and depressing to think about old age.   

1968, the year of our marriage, proved to be a watershed in relationships and politics.   

Woodstock, the Vietnam War, the draft, the antiwar movement, racial struggles, the sexual revolution, Roe vs. Wade, hippies, drugs, the feminist movement, Watergate — and that was just between 1969 and 1974.

All of these affected our lives. We were married before feminism took hold, and I wanted to renegotiate our gender roles. After every consciousness raising meeting I went to, my husband joked he had more chores to do. The very basis of marriage was in question. Open marriage? A few of our friends were into it. Quite a few got divorced.

In 1975 we became first-time parents — another huge upheaval — and the burden of child care fell on me. I hadn't established a career yet, and I was terribly unhappy being at home all the time. I got involved in a cultlike group, primarily to get out of the house on Tuesday and Thursday nights.

Then we went to couples' therapy. Being with other people going through similar struggles saved our marriage. But so did our willingness to adapt. Our marriage became more equal. I found a job at a magazine, a place I loved, but it required giving up control at home. My husband learned to stop answering the phone after hours (no cell phones then) so he wouldn't be called back into the office.

Our lives were all about work and children. The term "work-life balance" didn't exist so we had to fit the pieces of the puzzle ourselves. A move to the suburbs from New York City in our 40s made things complicated but gave our family breathing space. Our parents grew infirm and needed us more, our children a little less.

We confronted our own health issues — uterine cancer for me, multiple corneal transplants for my husband, just for starters.

College years for our grown children. Their struggles, career issues and relationships: do we jump in with advice or hope they figure things out? Weddings. And grandchildren — the greatest gift for us, though living in faraway states.

Our 50th anniversary in 2018 — celebrated, done and dusted. Suddenly, COVID separated us from family. We got immunized, wore masks (we still do in some settings). Though COVID and pneumonia struck us at the same time, we survived.

Our parents have all passed. We are the elders. Milestone birthdays keep coming. Then there is that misty grayness, not so distant anymore. "The last of life" looms closer.

Now my husband and I are alone together again, as we'd been long ago. We just celebrated our 55th anniversary.

Someone I met recently asked how we'd managed to stay together all these years. What are the lessons from our long marriage?

The best I could come up with at the time was my husband's even temperament. He never gets angry, while I am emotional. He's a bright-sider, while I'm the cup-half-empty one. That's important, but there's more.

• We each put the other's needs first. This isn't a popular idea these days. I care about him at least as much as myself, and vice-versa. He also has a higher opinion of my talents, personality and looks than I do.
• Even in the '60s and '70s when there was ample opportunity to play around, we didn't take it. Fidelity was an important value. I found him handsome and sexy — and despite all the changes of aging, I still do.
• We talk things out — even difficult things.
• Many couples take "me" time or go on trips with friends. It may work for them, but to me it fosters separation. After my experience in the cult, I realized that it was important for us to keep growing and learning in the same direction. For many years we would spend a week at Omega Institute, a holistic retreat center in the Hudson Valley, taking a workshop together. Sharing these experiences strengthened our bond.
• He makes me laugh. I think he's hilarious and witty. Not sure everyone does.
• We take turns giving support. When he wanted to leave a job he disliked, even though it was a money maker, I agreed. When I got a job at a startup that required long hours, he was able to work at home and be there for our pre-teen.
• We hold hands a lot, even watching TV. I wouldn't have thought of this, but a friend noted it with surprise.
• Finally, there's luck. To find the one you love and be together for a lifetime is extraordinarily lucky. 

"Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be. The last of life for which the first was made."

Maybe the rabbi wasn't so clueless after all.