Parents’ 57-year marriage is love story without end

The love story between my parents, LaVerne and Jim Morrison, is the one I know best.

Their love didn’t provide high drama, like “Anna Karenina” or “Gone With the Wind.” Their love wasn’t doomed to an early end like “Love Story.”

Theirs was a love story between two people, like many others, who supported each other and when problems surfaced, worked through them. It’s real love, the kind that endured, the kind that abided by the “till death do you part” pledge.

Their marriage of 57 years ended Dec. 4 when LaVerne died at age 83.

But their love hasn’t ended.

When Jim walked by Valentine’s cards at their grocery store, he choked up, remembering how he always chose two cards for LaVerne, one funny, one sentimental. That’s how their love worked. They showed their love in their deeds, in caring for each other in sickness and in health.

When they met and married in 1955 in Washington, D.C., she was a secretary with a high school education and attracted to him because he was a good dancer. He was an engineer and U.S. Naval Academy graduate and liked her because she was outgoing, friendly and fun.

Their marriage six months later was a two-for-one special. LaVerne was divorced and already had a child (me), and so Jim took on the responsibilities of a wife and a 5-year-old. His Boeing career took the trio all over the United States.

Throughout their marriage, LaVerne, who was raised in a poor Arkansas family, was always trying to improve herself. She read nonfiction, became a gourmet cook and constantly took classes to learn new things — French, history, politics, decorating, yoga.

After I left for college, we lived in different cities for 30 years, until they left Seattle and moved to Las Vegas in 1998. For their 50th wedding anniversary, they cruised the world for three months.

LaVerne cared for Jim when he fought non-Hodgkins lymphoma in his 60s. His cancer story had a happy ending after a rough treatment. He fought hard to live because he wanted to live for her, so she wouldn’t suffer his loss the way he now is suffering hers.

She had a brain seizure in 2008, yet returned home in 2010 despite 16 months of being “hospice appropriate.”

For 2½ years, when she was home in a wheelchair, he was her primary caregiver. An aide came in to shower her, but Jim took care of her and the household. He became an expert at ponytails. He shopped, did laundry, fixed breakfast and lunch and took her out for dinner and on outings to see friends.

Every weekend when I took her to the movies, when we came out and saw him waiting for us, I could see my Dad’s face, grinning like he was seeing her for the first time. She always looked back at him with her big, beautiful smile.

“In some respects, those three years were the best years of our marriage,” Jim said.

The six months she was getting better and the 2½ years at home gave him extra time with her, time he always called a gift.

“I loved every bit of that, even though I could be very tired,” he said. “I was happy that she was happy and engaged and had a good quality of life.”

In July, her hip fractured, and she returned to Las Ventanas Skilled Nursing. This time, she didn’t recover. She suffered. It became easier to let her go when her heart stopped.

Their love story continues, although with an overtone of sadness many will understand.

Jim sees reminders of LaVerne everywhere in their home and everywhere he goes.

Jim has lost LaVerne, but his love for her and her eternal spirit will never go away.

Jane Ann Morrison’s column appears Monday, Thursday and Saturday. Email her at Jane@reviewjournal.com or call her at 702-383-0275. She blogs at lvrj.com/blogs/Morrison.