Marriage is a journey that not everyone makes, and the trip isn’t always easy. But the foundation for most successful marriages is a durable friendship between partners that can strengthen the physical and emotional bond. When a couple manages to stay married for 50 years, friendship has likely taken on many forms and deepened in ways that are both mundane and profound.
My parents married in 1964, forming a union that lasted until my dad passed away in early 2016. In their 51+ years together they survived several moves, raised five kids, and navigated major illnesses. My parents met and married at a time when you weren’t expected to know your spouse very well prior to saying ‘I do.’ Marriage centered mostly on shared values, goals and economics.
At a recent memorial gathering for my parents, my family and friends listened to my mother’s voice–recorded years before by my sister Monica–telling the story of my parents’ meet-cute in the summer of 1963. My then-28-year-old mom had visited her brother Paul and his new wife Dee in Washington, D.C. My Uncle Paul had been intent on preventing my mom from ‘becoming an old maid.’ After she met the man who became my dad at a Bridge game night, Paul convinced mom to spend her summer taking classes in the area while living with him and my Aunt Dee so she could “court” my dad.
Of course, Uncle Paul’s mission was a success! My parents dated that summer, stayed in touch during the fall, and became engaged following my mom’s Christmas visit to my dad’s hometown of Tipton, Iowa. On the surface, my parents’ differences were easy to spot. My 5’ 1” gregarious mom was raised in New England, attended college in Boston and never lost her strong Boston accent. My 6’2” dad was reserved, (mostly) serious, and spent his life in the Midwest until his summer in Washington, D.C.
My most brilliant achievement was my ability to be able to persuade my wife to marry me.
—Winston Churchill
Theirs was a relationship in which differences were part of what made things work. My mom was the planner and made sure they kept in touch with friends and family around the country. My dad was accommodating but held firm to his likes and dislikes. Likes: 1970s Woody Allen films, museums, calculus, and homemade pizzas for a late dinner. Dislikes: The beach, our cats, and most parties.
As the years passed, their friendship evolved to encompass a deeper understanding and acceptance of each other’s flaws and strengths. Their final years were spent mostly in companionable silence during my dad’s long visits with my mom at her care home after her stroke and loss of speech.
I always thought of my dad as the more resilient and stronger of my parents. My mom’s stroke was unexpected, but it came after a series of falls and more than one stint in a short-term care home. So, my dad’s diagnosis of an aggressive form of lung cancer one year after my mom’s stroke was a shock. When my dad passed away six months later, we moved my mom from Kentucky to be nearer family in Boston, then to spend her final years near my younger siblings in suburban Washington, D.C.
Every so often, the question of an appropriate final resting place for my dad would come up among my siblings. My dad’s ashes were being stored in a closet at my brother Dan’s house, and aside from occasionally musing about sprinkling his ashes at the beach with those of my long-dead cat, we lacked a real plan.
But once my mom was settled into her new home near D.C., and her out-of-town kids made regular visits, we were reminded of how special this area was to our family. We had spent 11 formative years living in Arlington, VA, where my two younger siblings were born. Many weekends, we visited Smithsonian museums or national historic sites in the area, excursions that suited my parents’ interests and budget.
My younger sister Liz was the first to raise the prospect of making Arlington National Cemetary my dad’s final resting place. She had discovered important documents related to his Army service in the 1950s, and along with my oldest sister Katharine, started the lengthy process of getting dad approved for inurnment at Arlington. When my mom passed away in early 2024 following a brief illness, the quest took on new meaning, as we’d be able to bring them together again in a place that was meaningful and incredibly honorable.
Earlier this month, we celebrated my parents’ lives with a beautiful funeral service with family and dear friends at Arlington National Cemetary. Their journey home together to Arlington was worth every step. Theirs was a relationship that taught my family and many others the values of dedication and service. As we shared stories of their lifetime together following the service at Arlington, I felt a peace in knowing they’d love the arrangements we’d made with friends and family present, and that once again, they were together.
Language of Friendship 
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