My Aunt Irene got married at the ripe old age of 28. To me that still sounds too early, but back in the day, that was downright spinster territory.
My aunt would often tell me about how she prayed for me and for the man I would marry and I would always have some kind of sarcastic remark about being single for the rest of my life and that there isn’t a man on earth who was worth all this (pointing at myself of course). But she knew, and I knew, that the reality of being single well into your 30s is all about pain, feeling worthless, broken, unloved and unlovable and any mixture of shame and guilt for how you are acting out of fear and loneliness when you make all the mistakes you make in your love life.
When she moved to my neck of the woods, I loved talking with her and knowing that she knew my sadness in a way that many women her age didn’t. My mom got married at 21, as did many women in their generation. They went from dad’s house to husband’s house and have been there ever since. That’s not to say women who marry young are not without hardship and sadness. But it’s a different life experience than women like me who spent most of their adult life all their own, figuring out things as they go, dating more men than they can actually remember, and dumping bodies in the desert. I mean except that last part.
I remember being at lunch with Aunt Irene one Sunday after church and she said something like someone is coming for you and we can’t wait to meet him. I think back on that now, and it chokes me up, but it was like she knew. She knew that God would not leave me alone forever and that in His time, He would set things right again. And not a moment too soon.
I miss my Aunt. It makes me very sad that she didn’t get to meet Rob because I know they would have enjoyed each other. I know that I look forward to them meeting some day. And I know that she’ll say, “Told you so.” And this time, I’ll let someone say it.