I broke my wedding vows

Eight years ago this week I married the love of my life. We made our vows in front of our friends and family, promising to love and honor each other until death do us part. I have broken my vows. For me, the vows we made on June 10th, 2006 continue to be true in my life even after death has parted us.

At 21 years young, my love for Marcus looked much different. It was naive, the roots just beginning to break through the soil. The way we handled conflict was atrocious. I loved the silent treatment and he loved to make closing statements. Despite that the first two years were exciting and adventurous. We were both in graduate school and made the big move of our dreams to NYC.

In our 3rd year of marriage, hidden sin emerged from its darkness into the light. We were rocked, the roots of our love were short and in loose soil. We argued, we cried, we had the most honest communication of our relationship. I never felt so close to him. 

When he died, we had been married 4 years, 4 months and 12 days. We were still working through what our marriage looked like in the wake of our sin. I know it's something we would have continued to work on even if we were married 50 years. But in the last 10 months that we were no longer in darkness, our roots grew deeper into firm soil. We were no longer depending on our skills to love well, instead we were depending on God. I am so grateful for those 10 months. 

our last picture together

Grief has been the continued process of learning how to love and honor my husband.  It has looked very different at times. I have poured over letters, journals and pictures to the point where I can quote my favorite parts. I have yelled and screamed to an empty room with tears streaming down my face. I have forgiven many things and have asked forgiveness for many more. I have strived to remember the whole man that was Marcus Elliott Ewing. The same man who said I told you so when something I had done (differently than he had suggested) was causing conflict and pain. The same man who when a beloved patient died at work, welcomed me home to a drawn bubble bath, complete with wine, candles and Nora Jones. Afterwards during a dinner prepared by him, he held my hand while I cried and recounted stories.  

The ways I love and honor him now look different. I no longer pour over the letters or journals. Meeting new people use to be very difficult and awkward, waiting for the "Marcus bomb" to drop. I now say proudly, yes I am a widow and I was married to a wonderful man.

As time marches on and new adventures come, there will be new ways to break my wedding vows.