The Prince And The Caregiver

Jerry and I met on December 31, 1968, at nine o’clock in the evening.  There are certain dates and hours that we cannot forger- when we accept Jesus as Lord and Savior and are Born Again, when we are baptized in the Holy Spirit with the evidence of speaking in tongues, the births of children, marriages, and deaths. 

In my life, my first meeting with my future husband, my prince, ranks along with the other important moments in my life.  Neither of us was saved and we were leading worldly lives.  As you can tell by the date, it was New Year’s Eve.  It was also a blind date set up by his first wife’s family.

Evon, his first wife, had been killed in a car accident two years earlier.

The family took us to some animal club- Moose, Elks, Lions or something, in Deadwood, South Dakota.  At midnight, we kissed amid horns, noisemakers, and cheering.  He looked deep into my eyes and asked me to marry him.  To my utter shock, I heard myself saying “yes”.  I thought to myself, just wait until tomorrow when this guy realizes what he just did.  I’ll never see him again.  Once more, I reminded myself, I don’t like blind dates and I will never go on another one.  Marriage was definitely not on my agenda.

After that first kiss, I found myself wondering just how much he had been drinking before he picked me up for the date.  He had only had one drink that I knew about.  I wondered if he would even remember that proposal the next day.  Well, he not only remembered it, he repeated it. I thought he was nuts.

Jerry was a big man, six foot tall and muscular.  His hair was thinning on top and he had the most beautiful blue eyes.  He never thought he could sing but, oh, how he could whistle, melody after melody of beautiful music.  He was my gentle giant but I didn’t realize it for many years.  Because of my first marriage, I was almost afraid of him because of his size when we first met.  But his gentleness won me over in no time at all.

I was a divorced mother of two, in my senior year of college, and I had no plans to marry again.  I had two part-time jobs, two children, a house to take care of, and I usually carried and overload of college credits.  Marriage was not for me.  I didn’t want to let some man have any rights over my children or me.  I didn’t want to be another alcoholic man’s punching bag, which was why I divorced in the first place.

My dating in college was practically non-existent.  I usually went out with a group or would meet up with a group off-campus.  I had one rule that I very seldom broke and that was to take my own car.

The first year, I was drinking a lot.  My children were staying with my parents and I was lonesome for my children.  I didn’t have a car (which was a very good thing, considering how much I was drinking) so that year the rule was to stay with a group.  There was safety in numbers.

I could not believe that I would say “yes” to a marriage proposal from some guy I had just met.  I lived in Spearfish, South Dakota, and he lived in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  He was in South Dakota on vacation to see his young son who was living with his mother’s relatives.  Again I thought, after this guy goes back to Wisconsin, I’ll never hear from him again.  I was wrong.

Jerry started a barrage of telephone calls, usually timed when I would be home from work.  We conducted a long-distance romance and Ma Bell was our chaperon.  Actually, we got to know one another through discussions without the turmoil and stress of being face to face, necking, touching, wondering what to wear, where to go, showing someone you like them without loosing their respect.  Perhaps there is something to be said for arranged marriages, chaperons, and their place in life.