Eternity

It's a really long time, when you consider the meager few decades I have to contemplate it.

My husband and I recently celebrated our twenty-sixth wedding anniversary. That’s a long time. It’s not half my life, but it’s darn close.

I’m aware of the age of the Earth, though it’s hard for me to conceptualize that many years. It’s really hard for me to conceptualize the Earth existing longer than I have existed. I know it will go on long after I’m dead, but it’s hard for me to picture that, too.

Eternity is a long time.

I was reading a book about Greek Mythology[1] and the story of Sisyphus came up. If you’re not familiar with the story, Sisyphus was the guy who tattled on Zeus and was therefore doomed to spend eternity pushing a rock up a hill only to have it roll back down[2]. And I thought, if Sisyphus really was sentenced to rock pushing for eternity, then he’s still pushing that rock. Like today. Like right this very minute. Eternity doesn’t care if we’ve collectively decided that Zeus is nothing more than a story.

Anyway, as far as my limited consciousness is concerned, I’ve been married as long as Sisyphus has been pushing that rock. Though my marriage has been more pleasant. Most of the time.[3]

Your standard wedding vows contain the words “until death do us part” which isn’t something we generally think about. Not even at death. In fact, at the death of most spouses to which I’ve been witness to,[4] there’s usually a whole lot of talk about seeing one’s spouse in heaven. Which is the opposite of parting at death.

Marriage was never meant to be for eternity. Even our vows have an expiration date: death. I guess you can carry on in the afterlife if you want to, but you’re not obligated. But boy oh boy wouldn’t that be awkward? Can you imagine the spouse who died first waiting in heaven for his wife[5] and when she finally shows up he’s there with open arms and she’s like, “Nah, bruh, I had forty years with you. Time to move on.” That would suck. Or the other way—the widow who consoled herself with the idea that she’d get to see her husband in the afterlife only to get there to find that he’d moved on to his true soulmate. Oops.

I don’t know. I’m not saying what I plan on doing in this life or another. Like my dad always said, marriage ends in one of two ways: divorce or death, and your mother and I have chosen death. My husband and I have, apparently, chosen death as well. I’m hoping death won’t come for several decades to come.

And that will feel like eternity.

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[1] Stephen Fry’s Mythos

[2] I know. For many of us, this feels like a standard Thursday. It’s also a good metaphor for laundry.

[3] Just kidding! Love you, Mike!

[4] And being a lawyer who handles estates, I’ve been witness to an above-average amount.

[5] One of my dad’s favorite jokes: “Why do most men die before their wives? Because they want to.” Of course, my mom died about three years before he did, but that’s another story.