Seven years ago my wife and I decided we’d write our own vows for our wedding ceremony. At the time it seemed the traditional vows seemed unnecessary, as we had already experienced 15 years of ups and downs, sickness and health, etc and etc. Our ceremony only included my daughter, son-in-law and our two grandchildren, the officiant, and a beautiful patch of old-growth forest just outside Mt. Rainier National Park. Even as we exchanged what we had written I recall loving the feeling that the moss and ferns and the ancient trees overhead were absorbing our words —sanctifying them. It was magical.
I wrote my vows focusing on my wife’s hands, which I fell in love with from the moment she handed me a pool cue and asked if I wanted to play a game. I’d watched those hand lovingly pet dogs and cats, open doors for strangers, repair plumbing, and care for me when emergency surgery required I live with an ileostomy for a year.
She began her vows with “I can’t promise you everything, but I can promise that I will do everything humanly possible to keep you safe and guard your heart.” I was in tears at this point, because isn’t that everything any of us has wanted from our spouse, from our marriage relationship? I felt so cherished, so safe ...
She continued:
“I can’t promise you everything, but I can promise every day to wish you enough ...” which she finished off with the poem “Enough” which goes like this:
“I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright no matter how gray the day may appear.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun even more..
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive and everlasting.
I wish you enough pain so that even the smallest of joys in life may appear bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting…
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good- bye.” And she added “And lastly, I wish you enough love to fill your heart now and forever. They say it takes a minute to find that special person. Actually it took 39 years. And now that I have it will take a lifetime to love all that you are.”
A year and four months later those words came back with a vengeance, ringing in my ears with evil laughter, feeling like prophecy gone wrong. It felt almost as if I had been set up for the feelings of being unappreciated, taken for granted, someone worthy of only enough of everything to have cover for a six month betrayal that she knew would devastate me should I find out. “Enough pain?” I was as already a chronic pain patient when we got married. “Enough loss?” Are you kidding? I’d lost my health, my hobbies, my ability to enjoy life without the accompaniment of physical pain, as well as the emotional loss and mourning that chronic illness inflicts. “Just enough?” Really ... when you risked everything to spend your energy, time, and lots of money, on an ex who was not worthy of even a passing thought?”
I am not a greedy person. I am happiest in the little things. But it felt like my wife had either been careless in her choice of vows, or felt I didn’t appreciate what I had. On d-day those vows rang in my head as being cruelly deflective. Her “just enough” felt more like “let me slack off when things get difficult.” What the heck —it will just make me stronger, more appreciative? Right???
I know she gave those vows a lot of thought. We both worked with our wonderful officiant while writing them. Maybe others have used the poem “Just Enough” successfully in their vows. But I thought them strange on our wedding day (except for the opening lines) and today I hate them. They represent the endless pain and loss that followed d-day. They are a reminder she did not give them a second though when — just ten months after speaking them to me under that ancient canopy of mossy tress, in the company of my most beloved — she began an enthusiastic revival of an old and toxic relationship with her ex-girlfriend.
Today we are doing better. There is some healing. She is cognizant that she failed to keep her promises. But I’m torn between the ceremony we waited years to have, until our state recognized it legally — and tossing these painful vows for new ones. But I can’t ever erase these words from my memory, can I? They, and the affair that so closely followed, are indelibly etched in my mind and in my heart.
Is there anyone else who has dealt with this? How do I erase this added pain, inflicted by words that were supposed to make me feel loved and safe and secure? I hate the vows she said that day because apparently they were not as important to her as she said they were. I don’t know how to escape this pain.
