in_every_lifetime ovenbird When my Gidu saw my Baba descending the stairs at a party in Toronto he took one look at her and said “that’s the woman I’m going to marry,” and he did. She was 21 years old when he put that ring on her finger. They were married for 59 years until my Gidu died. My Baba terrorized the grandchildren by telling us (in way too much detail) about her wedding night, and how Gidu lured her into the shower by pretending he’d dropped his wedding ring down the drain. And while I clapped my hands over my ears and hummed to keep the details out then, I wish Baba was here now so I could ask her about her marriage and her life and her love. Did she love him on their wedding day when she was still so young and knew so little? Did she grow to love him? Did she grow out of love? Did she feel like their hearts belonged together or was their marriage mostly a product of cultural alignment? Their families had deep roots in Ukraine, though Baba never spoke the language, having been born in Saskatchewan. I want to hear her love story from beginning to end, but it’s too late for those sorts of questions. I wonder about this now, how some people seem to find a partner who matches them perfectly, and they grow together, and love each other until death, and never question whether that person was right for them. They just know, completely, that there was never anyone else. And others struggle, finding the wrong person over and over. On her death bed my grandmother looked at my father and said, “I really didn’t have any luck with men, did I? I really didn’t know how to pick them.” She was married twice and whatever love lived between her and her husbands was messy, at best. Why the universe conjures enduring love for some and relational disasters for others is a mystery. I suppose we could blame the people involved for making poor decisions but I don’t think that’s what it is at all. It’s just that we can’t see how our hearts will change over time. We can’t see how life will shape us. We can’t see the people we will become. So some people wake up to find they’re sleeping beside a stranger, and others wake knowing that they’re holding the hand of the person who they would choose in every lifetime, in every version of reality, until time itself is a memory of a dream. 260323 what's it to you? who go blather from