The Corpse Bride

Last weekend Brenna attended a wedding with her grandmother. She was relaying the day to me and said “The bride was beautiful, Mommy. I took a picture with her and the corpse.” Me: “Uh…the who?” “Ya know, the corpse she was marrying!” It took a little thought but I realized she had taken the title of the Tim Burton movie “The Corpse Bride” and assigned roles from there. She knew who the bride was so it only stood to reason that the guy in the suit was the corpse. I’m hoping she didn’t say this to the bridal party but if the newlyweds are true in their vows they both died a little that day.

To enter into marriage is to die in some part to oneself. 8 years ago today the reaper came calling for single-it’s-all-about-me Chrissy Kminek and I let her go willingly. You see, I’d found someone who mattered more than me. To be married means giving up what you want for someone else’s needs. Sacrificing part of me for them. I can’t eat macaroni every night because I have someone else to think about too. It means watching this crappy football game to be near them. It means listening even if I have something I’d rather be doing. It means holidays with their family too. It means when they wake up in a coughing fit and I want to punch them in the gut I offer to get them water instead. Keeping the nagging to a mininum when you want to scream your head off. Even the simple act of being pleasant so they feel good even if you don’t.

Then children come along and it’s both of you sacrificing for them. Time, sleep, money, personal space, sanity. Phew, this whole marriage/family thing is a lot of work. Some days my husband makes it harder for me than others. But I try to remember to treat others as we want to be treated. Works at the sand table, works in marriage. But it’s worth it, because if you’re all doing it right they’re making sacrifices for you too.

42 years from now (assuming we both keep sacrificing and one or the other isn’t awaiting a parole hearing) I hope we’re surrounded by our children and their children at a beautiful dinner (that they’re footin’ the bill for ’bout time they do their part). We’ll scoot around the dance floor with our tennis ball walkers, and all the sacrifices we’ve made for them and each other will be honored and celebrated.

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