Oliver: Teamwork, wry humor prove to be foundation of lasting partnership

This week 27 years ago, I married my best friend.

The weather that day was typically gloomy for late October, rainy and with temperatures in the 50s.

I couldn’t have cared less. The nerves I had that day came not from embarking on this major life change, but from trying to get all the little details right when it came to the reception afterward.

There was some family drama with my younger brother, who was supposed to be walking me down the aisle. He was running late and threatening not to come.

That he had to stand in for my father was a point of sadness upon which I tried not to dwell. Dad, who died in 1987, had never had the chance to meet my dear Tony. They would have liked each other, no doubt tag-teaming me with their gentle teasing.

Tony, meanwhile, was having a pleasant day watching college football (Northwestern was really good that year) and hanging out with his best man. In the receiving line, more than one guest made sure to let me know that my Wildcats had won that game. (They beat Illinois, 17-14.)

My joy at the day took the sting out of the glitches. My brother slid in just in time, and I didn’t notice that the large sprays of flowers never arrived, having been delivered to the wrong venue.

I even found humor when my maid of honor headed to the reception site before helping to bustle the long train on my wedding dress. I still giggle at the photos of Tony and another male friend doing it.

Humor has been one of the foundations of my years with Tony. We always tried to face everything as a team, often finding the same absurdities at which to laugh.

Tony also may be one of the few people who truly understands me. When I’d get moody, he’d rarely take it personally, and if he did, he’d always want to talk it out. Neither of us ever dreamed of walking away; no problem ever seemed insurmountable.

Tony’s mother, frail and with her health failing, made it to our wedding. One of my favorite memories was her loud “hello” to her son as Tony walked down the aisle. Sadly, she died a few months later. That was the first major crisis we went through as a couple. It would hardly be the last.

The years between then and now have been filled with the ups and downs every married couple goes through. However, at the end of every day, we had each other.

We were – and remain – a good team.

These pleasant memories come in handy now that our wedding anniversary holds a bit of sadness. Tony no longer is that man I married.

The addition of Alzheimer’s disease to our lives in 2015 has changed him and us. “Fred,” as we call the disease, makes every day challenging. Fred is not lovable and he’s hard to live with. Worst of all, he’s taking my beloved Tony away from me.

Does Tony remember who I am? Is he aware of that day in 1995 when we said we’d stay together no matter what? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

At times, I know that he views me as “his person,” the one he looks to for help and support. At other times, I’m the last person on earth he wants to be near. Happily, those moments do pass.

Every so often, if I’m having a bad day, Tony will quietly walk up and sit beside me. In his eyes I see my Tony, the one who knows me to the core.

That’s why no matter how hard it gets, I’m determined to stand by my man.

I like to tease him that I’m like a barnacle on his ship; he’s not going to get rid of me. On the bad mornings, that phrase helps me to inject some humor into the proceedings.

However, it also reminds Tony that I’m taking that vow I took 27 years ago very seriously.

We’re still Team Oliver, and he’s still my best friend. Fred hasn’t changed that.

• Joan Oliver is the former Northwest Herald assistant news editor. She has been associated with the Northwest Herald since 1990. She can be reached at jolivercolumn@gmail.com.