Well, You Picked Him

This story is by JR Trice and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

Love is a decision, not an emotion.

I heard that somewhere, but I’m not sure I agree.  Nonetheless, this is the love story of a decision I made and the emotion that has tagged along for more than fifty years.

The Beginning

As a freshman in college, my life was just beginning.  I was a local, a commuter, and didn’t yet fit in with the clusters of residents, those students thrown together 24/7 through dorm connections and nighttime campus activities.  I had been raised less than two miles from campus with a budget that required living at home.  I did find my niche, oddly enough, by hanging out in the student union between classes. Spades became my go-to card game, and I enjoyed playing while checking out the cute boys and observing the drama and shenanigans that were acted out on a daily basis.

One day my new friends and I were in the midst of an intense game when a long shadow darkened the cards on the table where we were gathered.  Looking up, I saw a handsome upper classman.  He seemed fixated on me, and as I made eye contact, I felt unnerved.  I looked away, and I suppose he read my discomfort.  That seemed to boost his confidence.  With a smirky smile he delivered his pitch.  “Hey, you have been selected beauty of the month, and I am here to set up your photoshoot.”

I heard snickering from my friends, and I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Oh, sure.”

Undeterred, the self-assured guy responded, “No, really, Jill.  We need to schedule your photoshoot.  How’s Thursday?”

He threw out times for my consideration, and I think I picked one just to be done with the embarrassment.  It wasn’t until a few minutes later I realized he must have done some research to know my name.

That’s how Jill met Jack.

 

For Better

Always a planner, Jack went after what he wanted. Fewer than fifteen months after we met, I found myself married.  Jack always knew just what to say, and he assured me and my parents that marrying in the middle of my sophomore year would not slow down my progress toward a degree.  He was graduating at the end of the semester after we married, and he later told me he pushed for the early wedding date, declaring, “I wasn’t about to leave you on campus while I started a career in another city.  Someone else would have swooped you up!”

He was determined to make a success of his life and, by extension, mine.  There was never a question in either of our minds whether or not I would complete my degree, and—despite transferring to another university in the city where Jack ended up working—my bachelor’s degree took just 3 ½ years.  At age 19 I was unprepared to tackle marriage but determined to hold my own.  Hesitantly I began to take charge of small decisions that propelled me toward larger ones.  Mostly though I went along with what Jack wanted.  He was our dreamer-in-chief.  He wanted us to have two children raised with a fulltime mother, yet it was his idea I should go ahead and get my master’s degree.  “It’ll be easier before children and good to have later.”  He was right, of course.  That degree paved the way to new opportunities after our sons were in college.

He managed his career along with our finances while I managed the children, the home, and our social calendar.  Each move we made for Jack’s promotions turned into improvements in lifestyle and a gathering of new friends who remained dear to us even through all the moves.  Jack sacrificed for his children in ways that others might not have:  He moved 500 miles away by himself to take a coveted promotion, leaving his younger son in familiar surroundings till he graduated high school, as he had promised; when our older son BJ was severely injured in a car accident caused by a drunk driver, he tightened the family finances so that I could leave my job and become caregiver throughout his numerous surgeries and recovery.  He served as lay leader at church and worked alongside Rotary Club members on projects supporting the less fortunate in our community; he planned fabulous trips to Europe at a time when I thought we should wait till we were older to enjoy.  Whenever circumstances at work were troubling, he suffered on the inside.  Whether it was a delayed promotion or a personal slight, he pushed through because he knew it was best for his family that he stay strong.  When he was finally in a position to lead, he championed and impowered his employees so their goals and dreams could be reached along with ours.

After our sons became successful adults, we realized the blessings they were, especially when friends would share heartaches they experienced with their own adult children.  There were still moments when Jack would annoy BJ and JP with some spectacularly silly antics.  They would call out, “Mom, can’t you do something about his behavior? He’s embarrassing us!”

I would just smile.  “Sorry, guys, you are the ones related to him by blood.”

“Well, YOU picked him!”  They would say it in unison, and it never failed to remind me that I too was connected to their embarrassment.

Jack retired early thanks to his company’s generous compensation.  I thought he would be bored, but he decided he had earned a break.  The job my master’s degree qualified me to take was an interesting one, so I continued to work.  He stayed home and enjoyed making our yard beautiful, playing golf and continuing his community service when he wasn’t traveling with me to some of the more interesting destinations my job offered.

For Worse

An abrupt end to life as usual occurred almost exactly five years after Jack’s retirement.  A bizarre medical situation kept him in the hospital for over three months while surgeons held team meetings daily to determine how to resolve a life-threatening issue with his pancreas; their solutions included several surgeries.  Afterward, there was a grim prediction that he might have two years before inevitable issues would resurface and create insurmountable challenges.

After he didn’t die, we settled into a different lifestyle.  His life became measured by doctors’ visits and regulated by a large number of pills designed to minimize damage to his uncooperative pancreas.  The months of unresolved illness without adequate nutrition apparently took their toll and Jack soon received a diagnosis of mild cognitive impairment, piling onto the pattern of forgetfulness first noticed prior to his illness.  His pancreas stopped producing insulin altogether, and diabetes added a layer of complication to his journey.

Looking back, I’m amazed me how quickly Jack’s qualities of planning, executing and managing life have disappeared.  His deteriorating brain doesn’t help him make good decisions to manage his diabetes, but he holds on to one characteristic that had always served him well: dogged determination.  As functional skills disappear, he clings to the idea of being in charge.

I miss most his kindness and thoughtfulness.  His insistence on contributing now creates great havoc, and I juggle caregiver and loving wife duties poorly at times.  He often calls me his drill sergeant.   I am trying to do my best for him, but exhaustion accompanies the several-day process required to get him to bathe, wear appropriate clothing, and brush his teeth.  The neighbors frequently see him outside wearing plaid pajama tops with striped pajama bottoms.   When able, I attend support group meetings where members and leaders guide me through understanding some of his abnormalities, offering suggestions for coping, redirecting, and ignoring.  The financial aspects of our lives are now fully my responsibility; Jack vacillates between complimenting my money management and wondering if there is any money left.  Surveying our yard, Jack points proudly to the dying trees, claiming credit for keeping them beautiful; his obsessive watering makes me indescribably sad.  I become frustrated searching our house to locate the unique storage places Jack has found for utensils and household items when “helping” me clean.  Recently he’s been awakening in a state of confusion, wondering if he and I are married or whose house we are in.  I make a joke about it, but it scares me.  I know we are closer to a new, unwelcome stage, and I am certain I am no longer his best resource.

I have never regretted my decision to marry the brash young man who won over my heart so many years ago.  I did pick him, even if it occurred after he picked me.

Upon returning home this afternoon from yet another doctor’s appointment, the future seems set.  The truth is that Jack is sliding down the hill, and Jill is not doing a great job of catching him anymore.

Tomorrow I will finally call a memory care facility on my list to schedule a tour.