My husband and I have become spontaneous celebrators. We celebrate, by ourselves or with others, as the occasion arises, in the case of unexpected ones, and otherwise, as the spirit moves us. That’s why by the time an anniversary comes—birthday, wedding, etc.—we have sometimes become all celebrated out.
Still sometimes we find ourselves celebrating on others’ account, without them knowing it. For instance, 25 days yet before the day, we celebrated our wedding anniversary at my childhood friend and classmate Nena and Louie’s party for their own 50th, on June 3. We even found an occasion for a second celebration, on the 17th, on Chito and Betina Legarda’s 45th.
In fact, it was then that we realized we had been married for only six years, yet celebrating for far more. At a party game for couples, Vergel and I were quickly eliminated in the first round—the winning couples had been married for between 42 and 48 years.
Indeed, unless there’s a breakthrough in stem-cell treatment, we will be eliminated as well from celebrating our own golden anniversary. Well, if we counted from when we began living together, if in yet unwedded bliss, after Vergel got his annulment (my own ex-husband had remarried as early as 1986, in lax Las Vegas), we’d easily have made silver. But, again, that would be cheating. We’d rather be seen as over-aged learners than cheats.
The survival of a first marriage as well as that of the original couple is naturally the first requirement of a golden anniversary, apparently something not so easy to pull off, given the going rate of separations and annulments, not to mention infirmities and deaths in these plagued times.
Nena herself didn’t know for sure they’d make it—she had been consciously, hopefully, marking the years. Louie had undergone a heart bypass and, until a suitable kidney was found, dialysis. Much earlier, Nena herself had had a knee operation but didn’t get the relief she had expected, refusing thus to have the other knee done. She wasn’t all that mobile, which made taking care of Louie even harder.
Both reacted positively to all health threats that came their way, did what they had to do, and never lost sight of all their blessings and luck, indeed were always grateful for them.
Also, they never lost their sense of humor.
Constant companion
It was so much like Nena to welcome her now more constant companion than Louie himself, the baston, which she brandished proudly to get her deserved parking place—it was only recently that they hired a driver; she used to drive herself. And Louie himself, barely conscious in the ICU, hearing unfamiliar voices around him calling, “Daddy” (the nurses’ term of respectful familiarity), teased Nena, “Sweetie, was I that naughty?”
Only when all the complications of Louie’s operation had been weathered, and he was back again in his second home, the golf course, did Nena begin entertaining the idea of celebrating their 50th. A month before the occasion, while doing a good imitation of Betty White of the TV series “Golden Girls,” Nena announced to one of her three sons, “Can you imagine, in just a month, your dad and I will have been married for 50 years?”
“Oh?” came the bland answer, and, looking up at her with all sincerity, he asked, “So, shall I reserve at Gloria Maris?” Gloria Maris is where they routinely go for family lunches. Her sour face said it all.
“Okay, where?” came the contrite response.
I’m sure if Maita (their youngest child, an only girl, who lives abroad) were here, she’d see the importance of the occasion and plan something accordingly, she thought to herself. These boys are hopeless, clueless.
She’d have taken things into her own hands, but Louie was not the picture of enthusiasm either: “No more, Sweetie, too much trouble for you.”
At any rate, at the last minute things started falling into place, and, with the help of cousins, the boys redeemed themselves, even managing to put together a program, one with a short video of their sister sending her best wishes.
The highlight of the night, though, came in a speech by Louie himself. He hadn’t missed a thing despite his devotion to golf, after all. At Mass, Louie, Mr. Macho himself, became teary-eyed as he recited the marital vows. For the first time in public he expressed his love and gratitude to Nena, recounting all she had done for him during his illness and through his recovery. At long last he found the words to let her know.
“No return, no exchange. Cincuenta años de mi p… vida!” replied Nena, laughing proudly, still somewhat incredulous she and Louie made it alive, and kicking enough, to their golden anniversary, partying with family and friends.
I suppose attending milestone anniversaries of friends is the closest Vergel and I will get to celebrating our own. But we don’t mind.