My husband Glen and I had been married twenty-four years when our seventeen year old son Nathan was killed by a drunk driver. Nathan was our third son to die. I was twenty-six and twenty-eight when Jimmy and Ethan died. I did not sense their deaths challenged our marriage quite as much as Nathan’s death did. We had only been married six and eight years when the babies died. Perhaps because we were young or perhaps because we had two other small children, we were so preoccupied with our remaining responsibilities we didn’t notice the attacks to our marriage that seemed so prevalent when Nathan died.
Somehow we survived his death and our marriage survived as well. We have now been married 46½ years, and most importantly, we still like each other! How did we do it?
We were already aware of our differences in personality. Glen faced problems very methodically and logically. I faced problems like a bull in a china closet - head on, with very little logic.
Glen faced Nathan’s death in his typical methodical style. I now know he was devastated, but he didn’t know how to show his sorrow. He went to work every day and appeared to be functioning normally.
I cried and howled. I felt so much rage that anyone who crossed me in any way was a potential victim. I could not think; I bucked my normal routine, and missed as many days of work as possible. My roller coaster emotions kept everyone at arms’ length. I often locked myself in the bedroom and refused to talk with anyone. Glen very patiently slid notes under the bedroom door, assuring me of his love. “You are the love of my life,” he wrote and spoke those words to me until I would finally open the door and sob and sob as he held me.
At first I viewed his quiet manner as weakness. I wanted him to confront the justice system and set everyone straight who question my style of grieving. His consistent behavior finally made sense to me. Logically he felt certain the DA would not listen to him, and he knew others didn’t understand our grief, so why exert the effort in trying to change them. I saw that his predictable behavior also meant he loved me before Nathan died and he wasn’t about to change any time soon.
One night he sat in front of me, got my attention, and said, “I don’t care what you do; I’m not leaving!” And he meant it! If he wasn’t going to leave, I decided I needed to learn to understand him.
As we talked we began to realize the best thing we could do to honor Nathan’s life was to learn to love each other even more deeply.
We now realize our differences are not weaknesses; they can be viewed as strengths. Thank goodness Glen is a peacemaker. If he weren’t, I question anyone would still be speaking to us. Often I speak without my brain being in gear.
Glen has learned I have the ability to size up a situation quickly. I can make decisions fast. I may not always be right, but I’m fast. I have a sensitive side that probably causes my tears to flow often, but my sensitivity also helps me know when others are in need. Glen has learned to trust my sensitive intuition.
We have learned that “different” doesn’t mean one of us is wrong. It just means we are different, and different is OK.
