TO HAVE AND TO HOLD

“My lover is mine and I am his; he browses among the lilies.”

Song of Solomon 2:16

Neal dressed in slacks and a nice oxford shirt and I in a fun midnight blue cocktail dress, rushed hand in hand out into a sea of floating bubbles as the guests cheered for our marriage and offered their good-byes before leaving in a limo.

Tucked inside the limo and on our way for the hour trip to the airport we popped the champagne cork and raised the window that separated us from the driver. Neal kissed me. “Congratulations Mrs. Deitz.” His eyes sparkled and he kissed me again.

My stomach in knots, I managed a smile. I knew I tortured him with abstinence for the past eleven months, but I still wasn’t ready.

###

“You want to what?”

We’d been engaged one month. I sat rigid, wringing my hands in my lap. “I want to stop having sex until we are married.”

He sighed and sat back on the couch. “Well, it’s not like we have it all the time now anyway.”

“Stop it.” When he made snide comments about not getting enough sex it made the wounds I carried deepen. I wanted to be ‘normal’ and desire sex, especially with Neal, but I felt physically and mentally incapable.

Like a person who suffered a spinal injury that leave them paralyzed from the waist down, I was sexually handicapped. One second they were normal, walking, running, climbing, dancing, enjoying the freedom of mobility, the next they were strapped in a wheelchair longing to feel the rough grains of the hardwood floors on the soles of their feet, or the throb of a shin splint, or to be able to stand face to face with their loved one, kissing their forehead.

They can't go back and make their spine whole again. They can't fix what's broken. I had been raped. My first sexual encounter, the actual moment of male to female penetration was not joyfully anticipated, longed for, or out of a heated hormonal embrace. It was forced, ripping, pushing, shoving, yelling and painful. I felt used, worthless, which led me to be used by others, only given affection and attention for sex. I was forced to do undignified things and was raped by a second man, forced to stay with him out of fear.

What once was whole was now broken and splintered. For years I tried to wish myself whole again. Normal. I didn’t know to embrace the truth I was spiritually whole and no matter if I’d given it freely or never offered my virginity at all, Christ my Savior offered redemption which made me whole again.

Neal reached over, grabbed my hands, and kissed me. “Whatever you need is fine.”

###

The dimmed lights in the limo made it hard to see Neal’s face but I could feel his hands. This is normal, I told myself. This is what you anticipated and have worked on for this entire year in counseling. It is Neal. You love him. He loves you. You are married.

An internal conflict rose. I battled between the need to show Neal my love and excitement for him and our marriage with no desire to be equally satisfied. The moment triggered a time in my past that left me used and dirty. I wanted to scream, “Not in the limo!” I didn’t want to feel used and dirty on my wedding night and I knew Neal felt the same but I couldn’t speak.

Instead I went into the emotional place I’d created in an effort to hide the ugly. Afterward, Neal wrapped his arms around me and we sippedchampagne. I rest my head on his shoulder and blinked back bitter tears as I accepted the truth -this handicap might never be fixed.

Our first year of marriage proved difficult. I traveled four to five days out of the week working for a men’s tailored clothing manufacturer as a customer service rep. Neal’s plan to be a high school counselor no longer appealed to him so he worked odd jobs to help make ends meet. For a short time I was the main provider of rent, car payments, and living expenses that shocked my system and fueled my need to be in control.

A few months into the marriage finances were tight. The end of the month drew near and the car payment was due. For two weeks Neal worked from 11pm to 6am, cleaning out the insides of the tanks at a chemical plant. On the fourteenth day of sleepless nights he stumbled into the room.

Only the whites of his eyes could be seen through the caked layers of soot, oil, and grime that covered his face and hands. “I’m so glad that job is over.” He handed me the check for $2009.59 before slipping through the shower and crawling into bed. “This should help,” he whispered and fell into a deep sleep.

The extra funds helped make the car payment and left enough for bills in the month ahead. On Monday morning I deposited most of the check in the bank, but received the $9.59 in cash. Before heading out on a business trip for the week I put the cash on the table for Neal.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“What?” I cradled the cordless receiver between my ear and shoulder and paced around the hotel room. I knew he’d be mad.

“You know what. I gave you a check for over two thousand dollars. I expected you’d at least give me at least $100 if not more.”

“But we needed that to pay bills.” I switched the phone to my other ear and stood in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door. I stared at my forehead and the sharp tip of my widow’s peak.

“But you are gone for the entire week. You didn’t leave me anything.”

“I did too. I put almost $10 on the table and there is plenty of food for the week in the kitchen.” Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. I walked over to the AC unit.

“Really? You think $10 is going to keep me for the week? I worked my butt off and you gave me $10? Unbelievable.”

The line went dead.

“Mom, I don’t know if I can do this.” I lay on a hotel bed and pondered the fate of my future with Neal. “I think I made a mistake.”

Across the line came a stifled laugh. I tensed.

“Shannon all young couples have troubles in the beginning.”

“But not like ours.” I pondered if I should say what I felt inside. It wasn’t that he hung up on me. My issues were much deeper. “I don’t desire him, Mom.” I burst into tears.

“What do you mean?”

I got off the bed and went into the bathroom for a tissue. “He wants to have sex all the time, and I don’t. I don’t want it at all. I mean I love to be with him and,” I paused while fresh tears burned the corners of my eyes, “I do love him but it’s not what I thought it would be like now that we’re married.”

“What did you think it would be like?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe once I was married I’d like sex more. But I don’t. I thought I’d feel more comfortable and not so anxious but I feel like I’m expected to be a certain way and I’m not.”

There was a deep sigh before Mom spoke again. “Have you talked to Neal about this? Is he asking you to do something you don’t want to do?”

“No.” I blew my nose into the tissue. “He is good to me but I can tell I don’t give him what he needs. Sometimes he makes comments about how we should be having more sex because we are newlyweds and we don’t have kids. It’s like he’s keeping track of how many times we have sex a week, and that is so frustrating.”

“Well, maybe you need to find a counselor and start going again. After what you’ve been through you’re going to have issues with sex. That is a fact. But if you don’t talk about it with Neal he’ll never know what it is that is bothering you.”

I blew my nose again. “I know.”

“You’re going to be okay,” she said. “Neal is a good man and he loves you. The first year is the hardest, and you both are going to have to learn to compromise.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks Mom.” I knew I didn’t have a ‘normal’ appetite for sex and Neal deserved to be desired by his wife. The weight of guilt crushed my spirit.

###

Six months before our wedding day the priest sat Neal and me down to go over the test we’d taken a few weekends before. It was a simple test that asked us individually about future plans such as kids, handling finances, and views on faith. There were a few questions testing our response in certain situations. It was multiple choice and would determine our compatibility.

Fr. Richard greeted us warmly when we came into his office. “Shannon,” he gave me a hug, “it’s good to see you,” He shook Neal’s hand. “Neal, you’re in here way too often,” he joked.

Neal had been in to see Fr. Richard for Catechism instruction. Before we got married Neal wanted to go through the Rite of Initiation into the Catholic Church. I was honored Neal made this personal decision and would drive 300 miles every weekend to complete the course to become Catholic before the wedding. Getting married in the church meant a lot to me but not for the reasons the priest would have liked to hear. I wanted to be married in the church because my grandparents and my parents were both married in the very same church. I was only thinking of sentimental value not of the sacramental gift.

“Well,” Fr. Richard sat down in his chair and waved for us to do the same in the chairs across from his desk. “Your test results are good. You both are compatible in most of the areas we tested.”

Neal and I looked at each other and smiled. He reached over and grabbed my hand.

“However, Shannon,” Fr. Richard looked me in the eye. “Your hostility was off the charts.” He held up the bar graph score sheet of our results and pointed to a bar that literally went to the top of the page. “You hold a lot of anger and resentment inside and I’m worried this is going to erupt in your marriage.”

I could feel my palm sweat in Neal’s hand. I nodded in reply.

Neal’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

Fr. Richard sat back in his chair. “Well, honestly Neal, if I didn’t know the two of you as well as I do I probably wouldn’t recommend you get married until she dealt with some of these issues.”

My heart seized. What? Did I hear him correctly? Anger rose through my chest and into my cheeks.

“But,” Fr. Richard continued, “Shannon I know you’ve gone through a lot over the last few years and I know you’re working on it right now with a counselor. I think you need to continue that work. I also know you two both love each other a great deal. I’m not going to keep you from getting married this summer but I will tell you right now the day will come when you’ll need to attend counseling together.”

Neal squeezed my hand. “Sure, absolutely.”

I swallowed the lump of anger and frustration that lodged in my throat and nodded.

###

Lying on the bed in the cold hotel room thousands of miles away from Neal I thought about that moment with Fr. Richard. We’re a few months into our marriage. Is that time now?