David McElroy

making sense of a dysfunctional culture

marriage

To see how I’ve changed over time, notice which women I’ve fallen for

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When I got married at 24, I assumed it would be my only marriage. Don’t most people believe that about themselves?

I came across this photo in an old album tonight and it felt as though it was from another lifetime. But that’s me up there next to the lovely woman in the white dress. That’s my best man, Larry, to my right. That’s her best friend, Monique, on her left. That’s Rev. Leroy Anthony officiating. That’s his wife, Martha, at the organ on the right. That’s my father and his second wife on the right side of the second pew.

And that’s the woman who I married back then. In the interest of her privacy, I’m not going to be much more specific or show her face. There’s nothing to hide, but I just see no reason to drag her face into my musings tonight.

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Fear of potential loss is a terrible reason to stay in the wrong place

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I have a friend who’s a manager for a small company that has multiple locations around Birmingham. She’s been with the company for 15 years and is really good at her job. There’s only one problem.

She’s absolutely miserable at work — but she won’t quit.

Every time I see this woman and her husband, the primary topic is the dysfunction in her company. For the last five years or so, there’s been a new owner and he’s a nightmare. She says he’s a “trust fund baby” who’s never worked or made his own money, but he keeps buying small businesses with inherited money and running them into the ground.

Her company is constantly on the verge of shutting down. The power has been turned off for non-payment. Equipment has been repossessed during the work day. Payroll checks have bounced multiple times.

Her husband wants her to quit. She’s been offered multiple other jobs. I’ve suggested over and over that she needs to get out. But she refuses to quit.

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Sad husband: ‘My beautiful wife is dying; I’m so sad I can’t sleep’

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The yellowed face in the picture caught my attention when I noticed the pinkish color of the healthy hand on her forehead. And then I noticed the man’s summary of his story.

“Here she is, Teresa,” the anonymous man wrote on a social media post. “She’s the love of my life, and today is her birthday. And she’s dying.”

This is not my story. I have very little to add to it. But this couple’s story touched me. There’s nothing we can do to help them. But Teresa is dying of liver disease and he’s terrified and heartbroken. The very least we can do is listen to their story.

“She’s getting sicker every day,” the husband writes. “She gets confused from high ammonia levels. She’s yellow because her liver is failing. She’s in pain, and can’t take anything because of the bad liver.”

In the midst of their fear and pain, he recounts that he’s thankful that Teresa walked into the company where he worked around 8 a.m. on Sept. 23, 1983. He said he had to work up the courage to ask her out — and he worded the question vaguely in case she turned him down. But he had to ask her out, he said, because “I fell in love with her eyes the first time I saw her.”

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