Still The One

Monty and I got married twenty-four years ago today. Our honeymoon was blissful. Moving into our first apartment was a magical adventure. Our first year of marriage was perfect.

And then the migraines I’d always had worsened. They got so bad that I would spend days in bed in the dark, unable to read or watch TV. I lived most of my life in a fetal position, wondering how it was possible that even my eyelashes could hurt. After months of being on a waiting list, we finally got an appointment with a neurologist who had a reputation for curing migraines. At that appointment, the neurologist gave me fentanyl and three other narcotics. If you’re familiar with my story, you know that that was the beginning of ten years of addiction. You also know that Monty stayed—through all of it.

I think back to those two innocent kids who got married, who thought we would determine the course of our lives. We had no clue about where we were really headed. Yet we learned lessons along our journey that we wouldn’t have learned any other way:

* Promises matter.  The vows we made on our wedding day were sacred. We made them to each other in front of God, and we meant them. I used to ask Monty, during the dark years, “Why don’t you leave?”  And his answer was always the same. “I promised you I’d stay. For better or worse. Right now just happens to be worse.”

* When a tremendous loss happens, you can survive it if you lean on each other.  Monty and I had been married for ten years when his mom died. She had a procedure to remove some pre-cancerous tissue, and the doctor botched the procedure. Janet died just days later. Monty and I held hands and put our other hands on hers as the hospital chaplain said “The Lord’s Prayer” and the nurses turned off the machines that had been keeping her alive. In that moment, at the wake, and at the funeral, we clung to each other. And though we still miss Janet every single day, we have survived the loss and now remember the funny, wonderful things about her.

 * Take turns being strong.  Monty was the strong one during the decade of my addiction. I wouldn’t be here without him. Since that time, I have had the enormous privilege of sometimes being the strong one for Monty. He has leaned on me, and much to my surprise, I haven’t broken.

* Choose laughter.  Even if life is painful.  Especially if life is painful. Laughing together bridges any gaps in a relationship.

* You can fall in love with the same person over and over.  Elvis Presley sang a song called “Ku-u-i-po,” which says, “I love you more today—more today than yesterday. But I love you less today—less than I will tomorrow.” On our wedding day, I didn’t think that it was possible to love Monty more than I did as I looked into his eyes and exchanged vows with him. But that love pales in comparison to what I feel for Monty today. After all these years of marriage—the hard years and the happy years—I can truly say that I love Monty more today than yesterday and less than I will tomorrow.

* Make God a part of every aspect of your relationship.  Monty and I pray together every night. We pray before big events and small ones. God is the super glue that holds our marriage together.

And against all odds, we ARE still together. We weathered some very dark times to get to this beautiful place of light. I’m not so naïve that I think the dark times are over forever. But I believe with all of my heart that those times knit Monty’s and my hearts together in a way that nothing else could have. If dark times do come in the future, I know that God will keep us together, and hand-in-hand, as usual, we’ll handle those times. Because I choose Monty. And I’m so grateful to write these three words and actually believe them: Monty chooses me.

“Our Choice”
– Renee Adele Phillips

You held my hand at 16. You chose me.

At twenty-one, we held hands while making promises in front of God. We chose each other for life.

When pain began to wash over me, I gripped your hand and begged you not to let go. You didn’t—and chose me again.

But I let go, determined to destroy myself. With everything you had, you pulled me back to you.  Unwilling to let go of my hands, you chose me again.

I pulled away. You held on. I fought you, trying to end the pain once and for all. You held my hands tighter and tighter until I surrendered. And I chose you once more.

Today, we hold each other’s hands. And I promise you—I’ll never let go again. I choose you. Always. And I’m so grateful that you choose me, too.