Mike and I had been married for 37 years at the time of Matt’s life-changing event. We had a perfect marriage, or at least one that was pretty darn close. We warmly embraced parenting together, collaboratively. We carefully avoided disagreeing in front of the children about each other’s parenting decisions or our relationship. Please keep that in mind as you read about our unique differences and struggles, and remember that they represent only a fraction of the whole package, which is our marriage.

If you recall, Mike and I were separated by one year at the University of Buffalo. In the Spring semester, Sophomore physical therapy students were paired with a “big brother” or a “big sister” from the Junior class. Upperclassmen were a valuable resource to the new students as their PT program ramped up in earnest, transitioning into a rigorous summer semester of Gross Anatomy (the study of human cadavers) and Kinesiology (the study of movement). 

Occasionally, the two physical therapy classes got together socially. One such event occurred at the YMCA. We had full use of the facility. A favorite gathering place was the pool. Mike fondly recalls spotting me in a two-piece black bikini sitting along the diving board with other girls. He thought I was hot, and his interest was piqued, but unfortunately for him, I was dating someone. Then, in the fall, we lived across the hall from each other in the dorms. Perhaps it was meant to be our destiny. But it wouldn’t happen overnight.

Periodically, we would get together for a beer, a movie, or to discuss classwork. I carefully (intentionally) maintained a casual friendship. One time, wanting to practice a new technique, Mike volunteered to be my patient. Unbeknownst to me, he has a congenital weakness of his left arm, and my aggressive resistance threatened to dislocate his shoulder. He was a good sport and didn’t let on until our future relationship was solidified.

In 1978, I graduated and moved to Youngstown, Ohio, where my boyfriend lived. That relationship fizzled soon after. Mike and I continued to correspond, and the following year, I was invited to his graduation ceremony. Smitten and ever hopeful, Mike chose to work with me at Youngstown Physical Therapists, despite considering other job offers. For a while, I maintained only a casual friendship. My close friends, however, urged me to give him a chance. I hesitated, unable to pinpoint why, except for a fear of jeopardizing our friendship if the romance failed. Still, I couldn't deny that Mike checked every box for an ideal future husband and father. He was kind, gentle, and compassionate. He consistently gave of himself to others, even coaching children’s recreational soccer. Mike made me feel cherished and safe, patiently waiting for me to embrace what he already knew in his heart. He respected my wishes and never pressured me. When I finally dared to take off my blinders, my heart confirmed what my head had been telling me all along. I realized I couldn't resist the twinkle in his eyes when he smiled or teased me, or the deep, comfortable bond we had already forged.

In 1978, I graduated and moved to Youngstown, Ohio, where my boyfriend lived. That relationship fizzled soon after. Mike and I continued to correspond, and the following year, I was invited to his graduation ceremony. Smitten and ever hopeful, Mike chose to work with me at Youngstown Physical Therapists, despite considering other job offers. For a while, I maintained only a casual friendship. My close friends, however, urged me to give him a chance. I 

Learning to meld our different backgrounds was an early challenge. I was raised on a farm, building tree forts and arm wrestling. My brothers wrestled in high school, so I took on that challenge as well. We ate fresh from the land, canning provisions for winter. My parents and siblings were natural do-it-yourselfers, fixing everything from cars and farm equipment to household appliances and electrical issues. Mike, by contrast, grew up in a suburban area. His childhood was marked by easy access to neighborhood children, pick-up games, and bike rides into town. While he frolicked in a small wooded area behind his house, I explored 74 acres of fields, trees, and a pond. Mike handled lawn care and shoveling, but his family relied on outside help for repairs. Their natural inclination, instead, was towards teaching. In our early years, I tried to coax and coach Mike into helping with household repairs, with mixed results. After hours of tinkering and multiple trips to the hardware store, a persistent leak under the kitchen sink was almost his undoing.

We slowly came to realize that our life strategies and temperaments are on opposite ends of the pendulum swing. We are yin and yang, and half-full versus half-empty kind of people. If I say up, he says down; if I say go, he says stop.  Mike is also a worrier by nature. I am mindful of concerns but not inclined to worry. Worriers, in general, struggle to comprehend how others can’t possibly be worried and may often conclude that we lack insight or are simply naive. This further compounded our disparity. The saying 'opposites attract' is true in our relationship. Therefore, we have chosen to blend our differing viewpoints to reach consensus. Like oil and vinegar, our initial attempts at single-mindedness can dissipate over time and warrant further revisiting. Over the years, we have learned to compromise, accept our differences, call a truce, agree to disagree, and, in general, make it work.

Under normal circumstances, our marriage endured. We had been blessed with fulfilling careers and three wonderful, successful children. Our life, marriage, and family were all we had envisioned and dreamed they would be. Matt’s accident was our first significant speed bump, one that would indelibly change our future.

© 2025, Sarah Watkins