October 20, 2009This afternoon I was buzzed to the hygiene room only to find my dear patients of 28 years Rosalie and John. They have always made their cleanings on the same day. As a matter of fact, in 28 years I have never seen them apart. They are very special patients as they are a part of the population of patients that have been married over sixty years…and they are still mad about each other. Their story is one for the movies. John is a good looking Italian that fought in WWII and Korea. I can tell that Rosalie was a real looker at the age of 19 because she is still a beautiful women. On Monday, Rosalie will be 90. I love this generation. Over the years this group of patients have raised me without even knowing.
I am a very happily married man and I attribute a part of my successful marriage to the privilege of knowing patients like Rosalie and John. Over the years we have gone through serious illnesses, hip replacements, the loss of a child, and now facing a 40 year old niece with a terminal diagnosis, just to mention a few. We have shared recipes, grown basil together, competed in sauce production and debated the difference between species of mushrooms. They have held me up when I was down and celebrated the birth of my child. Rosalie never leaves the office without asking me about my family in detail. I remember John always kidding about turning Rosalie in for two younger girls and Rosalie would lovingly slap his arm and tell him to get in the car. They are inseparable… there is no John or Rosalie …only Rosalie and John. That is just the way it is…no option. Some have the privilege of seeing this in their own family. I would guess that the percentage of people my age or younger that are exposed to this unique relationship is very low. Way below ten percent.
I have my profession to thank for this observation because I see this all the time. A large percentage of my practice is made up of this population. What a rich blessing and opportunity for me. It is a bitter sweet however. At the age of 90 I have to expect that I will lose either Rosalie or John. The loss is very hard, but the pain of watching the survivor trying to cope with half a life goes on for several years. I know that it is just a matter of time before I get that phone call that breaks my heart and leaves me with nothing to say. When one dies, something dies inside the other. This might sound weird but I pray for that much love in my marriage. To be so connected, so “in love”, that their absence tears your heart. Marriage is hard. It certainly is a process and an institution that takes many years to perfect.
I see the perfection in the eyes of the survivor every time they come in for a checkup or care. The eyes that cry out for their other half. The eyes associated with loneliness and the rapid degeneration of the soul. I wonder if Rosalie and John realize how good they have it while they are both here? As I watched Rosalie carefully get out of the chair and navigate across the room I thought of the many years that she would bounce out of the room giving John instruction for the next visit. I love them. Not just for their friendship, but for the many lessons of life they have shared with me over the years.
These are the days that I go home and hug my wife wondering if it is possible for us to understand ‘perfect eyes’ at 22 years of marriage. To appreciate each other for what we will become instead of what we are. I think ‘perfect eyes’ can be realized at any stage of marriage if you are privileged enough to be exposed to it somehow. This is why you get married and fight for longevity. I am a lucky man to have been even a small part of John and Rosalie’s life. We all need to look around for other Rosalie and John’s and glean from their achievement.
