Two Anniversaries, Two Life Lessons

Five years ago today, our city was buried in ice.  So much that it changed the entire landscape of our entire region.  So much ice that people died because they couldn't get out for food or other necessities.  So much ice that when the power went down the sound of trees creaking under the weight would wake you up from a sound sleep.  Emergency crews came in from other states, and kind souls drove around to families with food and blankets.

I strongly believe in learning survival techniques for reasons just like this.  We knew and prevented the risk of carbon monoxide poisoning.  We knew how to build and maintain a fire, and already had extra blankets and a cupboard with a week of groceries.  We had extra cat food as well (you're welcome, Cartman).  If I go on a rant about how fast things can change, it's because I know firsthand how you can go from sixty degrees to so much ice the grocery store may as well be a hundred miles away for all the good it would do you.  It's why I have taught our nieces and nephews how to plan ahead and think through the problems the world can throw at you.  That is the lesson from the ice storm, and many people around here took heed and attended Survival 101 classes offered afterwards.  That is the moral of the first story.

But there's another anniversary coming this week as well, and also greatly shaped my beliefs and views on marriage.  During this same ice storm, my future husband and I were hoping the airport would open up in time for us to make it to our Las Vegas wedding.  Yes, we were in love even though the fourth day of "togetherness" had us eyeing the hatchet and saw with new interest.  All mushy love stuff aside, there was a practical reason we were getting married.  Bart had recently had a heart attack and I was unable to go see him because we were not legally married.  In Missouri, if he had died, I would have had zero rights to him or the home we had already shared for nearly nine years.  I was far from a new arrival, but the court wouldn't have cared if I had lived with him a single day or fifty years.  Until we were married I simply didn't count.  That's a terrible feeling.  I would love to say the proposal was romantic but it really came down to a practical need.  One major disaster would have been enough to tear our world apart with no legal protection.  So we did the practical thing and tied the knot, and I've never regretted it.

However, this is why I take the subject of gay marriage so seriously.  I know the frustration of having shared my life with someone in good faith, only to have the law tell me I have no rights.  I built a home, invested my heart in his family, and took care of him faithfully when he was sick.  Yet when he was going through a surgery that might have ended his life, I was kept out of the wing because I was not his legal wife.  If he had died, our home would have been taken away, and I would have been left with nothing except pictures, in spite of the fact that I contributed equally all those years to the property and towards our purchases.  Probate court would have gobbled up anything that I did try to fight for, and when one has lost their home and property, how does one fight?

That is the situation gay couples face every day.  My favorite aunt in the world is a lesbian.  She comes from a different generation, when gays were terrified to be known.  She had to deny who she was her whole life.  Even though Alzheimer's has robbed her of her memories, hiding her relationships and true identity is so deeply embedded in her psyche, that her automatic denials and clever misdirection still come up, a reflex forged by years of discrimination.  When her partner of nearly 50 years passed away, my aunt was kicked out and denied any access to the property.  She wasn't even allowed to have a photograph, and her possessions were dropped off at her house in trash bags.  Because they shared that house for 20 years, all her pictures were there.  Now that Alzheimer's has taken her memories she has nothing left.  Her life is a shell of fuzzy recollections she can't trust.  I remember her crying because she was starting to forget her wife's face.  The reason she was treated so terribly is because her wife's family disapproved of their relationship and used this death to take out their frustration and judgment on a suffering 80-year-old woman.  How very Christian of them.

So the other moral is I am grateful to have my husband, not only because I love him but because I can enjoy the legal and social blessings of being his wife.  I have security and legal protection, because any adult in this world will tell you love is not enough.  There is a practical side of marriage that we take for granted, because we can.  Those who cannot are painfully aware of their situation and helpless to prevent it.  They deserve better.