At some point in a 28 year marriage, I realized that “love” had little to do with it. The phone calls home I made to gain direction from my mom only complicated things; she was a staunch Catholic and product of the Great Depression. "Suffering is a part of it," she'd lecture. In retrospect, I realize the many layers to life and marriage. Of course I was blind to these when I wed at twenty-three. But at fifty-five, I’ve earned at least the equivalent of a bachelor’s degree in