June is not only the month of Father’s Day but also the month Jerry and I got married. On June 26 we will celebrate our wedding anniversary - 58 years. So I thought a former column would bear repeating. I wrote the following June 17, 1998, for the Rogers Hometown News:
Jerry and I sat on a bench at the bottom of the hill, far away from everyone, silently engrossed in the scenery. Surrounding us were treecovered hills and giant walnut trees, standing tall in the grassy field, bare from leaves fallen prematurely to reveal a bumper crop of walnuts ready to drop.Our small herd of cattle munched on tufts of grass while switching their tails to chase away flies. Soon fall would cover this valley with its warm colors.
A warm, comfortable feeling spread over me gradually. It always gave me a thrill to realize we owned this small paradisein northwest Arkansas.
Jerry finally rose from the bench and led the way up the steep hill toward our house. I trudged close behind, studying his tall, lanky frame while striving to keep up with his long strides. We stopped to rest four or five times before reaching the top. Following my husband of 40 years, I thought how good he looked to me. I liked this guy and enjoyed his company. I appreciated the walks we took.
Then the thought hit me - the true meaning of love . . . . . is companionship.
Just days before a young woman had asked me to meet her at the park. She needed to talk. We sat on a hard cement bench where we could watch her son and his friend play in the sandbox. She poured out her woes, mostly marital problems. “How can I stay with a husband I no longer love?” she asked.
“What does love mean to you, Judy?,” I questioned.
She replied, “It’s a good feeling.”
I gently tried to explain love is more than an emotion. “Love is a commitment.” Yet, somehow my words seemed inadequate and unconvincing. I understood her yearnings. I remember the disillusionment I experienced as a teenage bride when feelings of love dissolved. We lived with my in-laws that first year and by the time we had our own home we were parents of a onemonth-old baby. Within a few years we had two more children. Though I longed to rekindle those earlier feelings of emotion and intimacy, somehow they could never be recaptured.
Years dragged by and I gradually realized I had a choice. I could constantly fret over lost feelings or I could to commit to our marriage, regardless of how I felt.
The day we purchased our first home west of Rogers I made that choice. We were riding in our old, bumpy pickup, on our way to sign papers at the bank.I sensed so strongly that I had reached a point of no return. Silently, I made the decision, “I will stick to this marriage. I won’t entertain thoughts any longer of leaving this man who works so hard to provide for us. So what, if there isn’t the passion there once was.”
From that moment everything was different. When I quit living for the excitement I found something greater than passion . . . peace and contentment.
Oh, there are brief times when we once again experience the passions of youth, but feelings have become less and less important. Long, silent walks bestow feelings unknown by teenage lovers. Together, enjoying the stillness of nature, stirrings of intense warmth envelope me. Having Jerry for my best friend and companion - that-slove.
Yes, love IS companionship.
Marie Putman, one-time Gravette resident, shares her thoughts with our readers twice every month.
Opinion, Pages 4 on 06/09/2010