I have a friend who is falling in love. She honestly claims the sky is
bluer. Mozart moves her to tears. She has lost 15 pounds and looks like a
cover girl.
"I'm young again!" she shouts exuberantly.
As my friend raves on about her new love, I've taken a good look at my
old one. My husband of almost 20 years, Scott, has gained 15 pounds. Once
a marathon runner, he now runs only down hospital halls. His hairline is
receding and his body shows the signs of long working hours and too many
candy bars. Yet he can still give me a certain look across a restaurant
table and I want to ask for the check and head home.
When my friend asked me "What will make this love last?" I ran through
all the obvious reasons: commitment, shared interests, unselfishness,
physical attraction, communication. Yet there's more. We still have fun.
Spontaneous good times. Yesterday, after slipping the rubber band off the
rolled up newspaper, Scott flipped it playfully at me: this led to an
all-out war. Last Saturday at the grocery, we split the list and raced
each other to see who could make it to the checkout first. Even washing
dishes can be a blast. We enjoy simply being together.
And there are surprises. One time I came home to find a note on the
front door that led me to another note, then another, until I reached the
walk-in closet. I opened the door to find Scott holding a "pot of gold "
(my cooking kettle) and the "treasure" of a gift package. Sometimes I
leave him notes on the mirror and little presents under his pillow.
There is understanding. I understand why he must play basketball with
the guys. And he understands why, once a year, I must get away from the
house, the kids - and even him-to meet my sisters for a few days of
nonstop talking and laughing.
There is sharing. Not only do we share household worries and parental
burdens - we also share ideas. Scott came home from a convention last
month and presented me with a thick historical novel. Though he prefers
thrillers and science fiction, he had read the novel on the plane. He
touched my heart when he explained it was because he wanted to be able to
exchange ideas about the book after I'd read it.
There is forgiveness. When I'm embarrassingly loud and crazy at parties,
Scott forgives me. When he confessed losing some of our savings in the
stock market, I gave him a hug and said, "It's okay. It's only money."
There is sensitivity. Last week he walked through the door with that look
that tells me it's been a tough day. After he spent some time with the
kids, I asked him what happened. He told me about a 60-year-old woman
who'd had a stroke. He wept as he recalled the woman's husband standing
beside her bed, caressing her hand. How was he going to tell this husband
of 40 years that his wife would probably never recover? I shed a few
tears myself. Because of the medical crisis. Because there were still
people who have been married 40 years. Because my husband is still moved
and concerned after years of hospital rooms and dying patients.
There is faith. Last Tuesday a friend came over and confessed her fear
that her husband is losing his courageous battle with cancer. On Wednesday
I went to lunch with a friend who is struggling to reshape her life after
divorce. On Thursday a neighbor called to talk about the frightening
effects of Alzheimer's disease on her father-in-law's personality. On
Friday a childhood friend called long-distance to tell me her father had
died. I hung up the phone and thought, This is too much heartache for one
week. Through my tears, as I went out to run some errands, I noticed the
boisterous orange blossoms of the gladiolus outside my window. I heard the
delighted laughter of my son and his friend as they played. I caught sight
of a wedding party emerging from a neighbor's house. The bride, dressed in
satin and lace, tossed her bouquet to her cheering friends. That night, I
told my husband about these events. We helped each other acknowledge the
cycles of life and that the joys counter the sorrows. It was enough to
keep us going.
Finally, there is knowing. I know Scott will throw his laundry just shy
of the hamper every night; he'll be late to most appointments and eat the
last chocolate in the box. He knows that I sleep with a pillow over my
head; I'll lock us out of the house at a regular basis, and I will also
eat the last chocolate.
I guess our love lasts because it is comfortable. No, the sky is not
bluer: it's just a familiar hue. We don't feel particularly young: we've
experienced too much that has contributed to our growth and wisdom, taking
its toll on our bodies, and created our memories.
I hope we've got what it takes to make our love last. As a bride, I had
Scott's wedding band engraved with Robert Browning's line "Grow old along
with me!" We're following those instructions.
"If anything is real, the heart will make it plain."
