My grandmother married a man who was a prize-winning ballroom dancer, a dashing naval officer, piercing blue eyes, sunkissed skin and forearms that’d make Popeye run for the hills.
A seaman, he was often away for months.
This year’s Christmas, one of my relatives asked my now-elderly grandmother, a widow:
“So, were you ever jealous, in all your sixty years together?”
“No,” she answered without skipping a beat, “you cannot marry a handsome seaman if you have a jealous nature. You cannot marry anyone if you have a jealous nature and expect to have a happy marriage or a healthy heartrate.”
“Isn’t jealousy like, a natural part of love? Like it’s a sign that you care for each other, you don’t want to lose each other?”
“Jealousy is a ball and chain. It’s a cage. If you love someone you never hold them back from anything because you know deep inside they’ll be fine. You never have to lie awake at night wondering what they might be up to… you know they’re fine. And you know they’re loyal.”
“How do you know?”
“You just know. I knew. And I never doubted it.”
He was nineteen, she was seventeen, when they got together. He found his Queen, she found her King. You cannot keep a King tied down, you cannot restrain him. He has an empire to build, battles to fight, kingdoms to conquer. He needs an asset, not a liability. He recognized in you an asset. He trusts you, and you trust him. That is all. And it’s more than enough.
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