Love is Sustained by the Melding of Passion, Intimacy, and Commitment

On Christmas Eve, 2018, my wife, Nita, and I celebrated our fiftieth wedding anniversary. That milestone has me thinking about the nature of love.

In the beginning, our love was consumed by passion: a physical arousal that was so irresistible that I can still feel her slender body pressed against mine on the stairwell that led to her apartment. Although purely innocent (I think), she beguiled me like a puppy conditioned by treats for good behavior. At the time, I called it love although I hardly knew the meaning of the word.

Eventually, passion was joined by intimacy: a feeling of closeness, understanding, and support for each other’s dreams.

In 1991, I bought a new hunter-green Corvette with saddle leather interior. I called it “Blaze.” Physical arousal was not induced when I was cradled behind the wheel, but it came close. Meanwhile, Nita yearned to leave her lucrative administrative position and return to classroom teaching. Even with my salary, our budget would be strained. The solution was easy: I would sell the Corvette. Although Blaze could catapult me from 0-60 in 5.5 seconds, it was not fast enough to overtake my wife’s dreams.

Stage three of our love affair was commitment: a covenant to nurture and protect our love for all time. When I was standing in the stairwell with my sweetheart in my arms, I could not imagine a greater love. I was wrong. True love expands.

Today, our friends know that Nita has Parkinson’s disease. However, they may not know the consequences of the disease. Every day, Nita comes to me for help, always unassuming, unembarrassed, as if she were asking for the time of day. Would I help her button her dress? Open a stubborn jar?  Slice a fresh tomato? Naturally, I’m happy to help her with those tasks, even with the knowledge that her skills will diminish in time. But here’s the miracle. I do not love her any less; I love her all the more.

How can that be?

I think it has to do with the flow and fusion of passion, intimacy, and commitment. I am still aroused by her beauty, both physical and spiritual, still moved by the intimacy of her vulnerability, still thrilled by her commitment to our marriage, even with all my befuddling flaws.

But there is something else. Nita has always been a powerful, independent woman: gentle enough to revive a wilting houseplant yet strong enough to discern and heal a tormented relationship. And now, this dynamic woman is asking for my help . . . my help.

Frankly, I think she is still beguiling me, the vixen. I suspect she knows that with every call for help, I am enriched, even exalted. She has sustained me for fifty years. Now she is inviting me to sustain her and, consequently, fill my heart with the joy of serving my true love. Thank you, my sweet, sweet Nita.