The Anniversary

Today is the 68th anniversary of my parents' wedding. They were married in the Salt Lake City temple, and afterwards, I believe they were feted at a dinner by my grandparents in a restaurant there in Utah. My mom actually lived there in SLC for a few years, working as a secretary for the Sunday School office. They continued to reside in the city for the first six months of their marriage, and then returned to live in Wyoming where they both grew up. They lived in Wyoming the remainder of their lives.

 This is shortly after their wedding in 1946.

I realized today that I have been married longer than they were, because of my father's untimely death at age 61 from leukemia. CoolGuy and I have made it to our fortieth anniversary. They were only able to celebrate 38 years together on this earth. When our mother passed away eight years ago, we were pleased that they could be together again to enjoy one another's company, as they had in this life.

 

This is on their 25th anniversary when we "adult" girls chipped in to buy them a new recliner chair. We all turned up for church that day, as a surprise, and had a special dinner for them, too.

As a pair of farm kids, they were quite suited as a couple. Neither my mother nor my father ever shied from a hard job. They helped each other all the time with whatever needed done. My mother milked in the evenings so my dad could irrigate, or mow, or bale hay. My dad could, and did, brush out little girls' hair, and, apparently was quite skilled at making fudge. They didn't expect anyone to do for them. They had a lot of experience at working hard to provide for themselves, and were generous in sharing with others.

Every year on September 5th, I can't help but remember how old and unexciting I thought they were by the time I was in high school. I realized one year, when I was the mother of teens, that my mom and dad were both younger than my age currently at the time I was considering them "old." Ha! Ha!

It's simply not possible to appreciate your parents enough when you're a kid. Your life is the only life you've lived. It all seems to be "normal" and to be a given that your parents will be there, and that they will take care of you. Now that I have been a teacher for nearly two decades, I recognize what a marvelous childhood I had. I had two parents whose very existence was devoted to taking care of their children. They worked hard at making a living. They had high standards for our behavior and our education. They taught us skills, and manners, and compassion, and a love of God. They loved each other, and even though it wasn't all roses, they worked at being married, and maintained a sense of "sweetheart" with one another.

It was very sad when my dad was diagnosed with a terminal illness. He lived for many years beyond the expected because of my mother's care and devotion. He was seriously ill for the last couple of years, and she did all she could to bring him comfort and peace.

I'm happy that I have their example in my life. We, their offspring, have tried to pass on to our children, and our grandchildren, the pride and love that we were taught in our heritage as farmers, Westerners, and God loving people. I hope our parents are proud of us. We certainly admire them, and celebrate their choice to start this whole enterprise way back in 1946.

 This is 1977. We'd just started the grandchildren production with the first four married girls. We'd each had one boy; and one sister had produced #2 by then, also. The ultimate total was 33.