John and I enjoyed the company of a couple who have been married since 1957. We chatted about how they met, and their wedding, and ways they continue to show up for one another in retirement. One of the things she mentioned was how she carried the weight of anxiety from her childhood long into their marriage. It wasn't until she was sixty that a skilled therapist helped her set the burden down. Since then she has felt lighter, and experiences more joy. 

I was moved to hear that such healing could take place, and even more that it happened soon enough. Half a century is a long time to slog through anything, and yet she did not mention that she resented the timing of it all. Apparently one of the things she left behind is regret. 

"Ah if only I had found that therapist in my forties!"

Maybe she wasn't yet ready in her forties. In a culture where speed is a hot commodity, some things can't be rushed. 

I am still thinking about the couple I wrote about yesterday. The one who experienced their own made-to-order miracle. The phoenix period of their relationship is just over a year old, and perhaps that is the wrong simile anyway because it implies that it began as a vibrant entity. Theirs started with a struggle and they wrestled with it for twenty years. No honeymoon bliss for them as an intro to partnership. 

"He was the sand in my shell."

In giving me permission to share her story, she expressed her genuine hope that it might ease the suffering of someone else. I am no math whiz but the ratio of hard years to buoyant ones is, well, lopsided. Still that did not seem to dim the brightness with which she held it. 

As she spoke, there was not a whiff of impatience. No sentiment of having waited too long for what feels like a happy ending, though she said it is really more like a new beginning every day. Like a string of pearls.