If things had gone differently, tomorrow would have been my 55th wedding anniversary.
But as the 18th Century Scottish poet Robert Burns famously wrote: “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”
Well, that’s not exactly how he said it. In the words of his place and time, it was: “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy!”
And so, as I say, tomorrow Gail and I would be toasting our long marriage, had things not “gang agley”.
We wed while still in college — she at 19 and I at 20 — because two can live almost as cheaply as one. Our baby daughter was born 18 months later, but I was drafted into the army almost immediately, halfway into my first year of teaching. We moved in with my parents so Gail and little Jenny would have a home.
But the army’s “best-laid plan” of inducting me also “gang agley,” because it was 1972, and the Vietnam war was winding down. With nowhere to put new recruits, my induction was canceled. I could keep teaching. We rented our own cozy apartment, and our best laid plans grew and grew.
Over the years, our baby son Dave joined our loving family, we bought a house, I continued my education, Gail finished her degree and also became a teacher. Our best-laid plans grew further. Our kids grew up, married, and moved out, and we both retired while still in our 50s.
If you asked me then to comment on the poetry of Robert Burns, I would have called it bunk. Our best-laid plans were doing just fine, thank you very much.
But then, a few weeks after our 37th anniversary, things began to “gang agley.” Gail developed heart problems that resisted all treatment. And then uterine cancer. And then a massive stroke that robbed her of speech and mobility. I became her 24/7 caregiver.
And then, at age 68, another stroke took her life.
If you’re a regular reader of this column, you know all of this, because I’ve written plenty about it over the years. And one of those readers was Carol, who also married as a teenager but lost her husband Pat to colon cancer before she turned 50.
And so we emailed each other back and forth, talking openly about living a life with best-laid plans that “gang agley.”
And then we met, and fell in love, and eventually she came to live with me in my house.
Carol often said, “I wish we had met when we were twenty,” but I always answered, “Oh, sweetie, we would have been a train wreck together.”
That’s because every seaworthy vessel sailing through life needs both a sail and a rudder. In my marriage, I was the sail and Gail the rudder. In Carol’s marriage, her husband Pat was the rudder to Carol’s sail.
But if Carol and I were both sails, why did we get along so well now?
Because we were at a different point in our life, with most of the tricky navigation behind us. Gone were the reefs of employment, the shoals of mortgages, the whirlpools of child-rearing.
Our spouses had been perfect matches for us when we were young, the ideal partnership for best-laid plans. But now?
Ahead were open waters and fair winds—perfect seas for a couple of septuagenarian sails who cared little for where the winds blew us.
And so, without actually verbalizing it, we agreed to live life without a plan of any sort. We called our adventures “capers,” and I have plenty of photos to document them: Carol wading in the gin-clear Apple River in jeans and gym shoes, kicking the water. Standing in a snowy Starved Rock forest with a walking stick in hand. Leaning against a strangler fig tree on a Florida Everglades boardwalk. Smiling in sunglasses atop a mountain in Berea, Kentucky. Mugging a horrified expression at the creepy gates to Stephen King’s house in Bangor, Maine,
Because without a plan, what could possibly “gang agley?” Our joyful mantra before each caper — even dodgy ones — was a joking “We’ll be fine! What could possibly go wrong?”
But it’s hard not to make plans, isn’t it? And so, by September of 2022, after living with Carol for a few years, plans started to form in my head. I contracted a builder to add a room addition to help physically turn “my” house into “our” house, and work on the project began. I asked Carol to dig out her passport for an island trip somewhere to the Caribbean, where I thought I might surprise her with the ultimate caper: an elopement.
And then, because it started to sound like a best-laid plan, things “gang agley.” Carol suffered a sudden stroke on Labor Day weekend in 2022. She died the following day.
As I said, I’ve written about all of this before. Those who are sick of hearing about it stopped reading paragraphs ago.
But if you’ve read this far, it’s likely you too have tales to tell about best-laid plans that “gang agley.” Some readers have said that when I share my grief openly, it helps them to bear theirs, by making them feel less alone. I hope that is true.
Anyway, this is my tale of best-laid plans.
Tomorrow would have been my 55th wedding anniversary with Gail — or maybe the happy start of a second half-decade together with Carol — had things not “gang agley.”
And so, as with all anniversaries, it’s a good day to look back and remember.
But the day after that? My forward-looking best-laid plans?
I guess the winds will have their way.
TR Kerth is the author of the book “Revenge of the Sardines.” Contact him at trkerth@yahoo.com.
