The winter feels like it might be over today. I know it’s a trick, but today it is 66 degrees and it almost makes us forget what the last several weeks have been like. It is a welcomed change. Kids riding bikes and skateboards, rather than wrestling in the living room and begging for screen time.
Winter always seems to drive Chris and I into a monotonous, droning, low gear. We are doing everything that is expected of us. Paying our bills, working our jobs, fulfilling obligations in the order that they arise and by their designated priority level. Caring for sick children when the need be. Preparing the appropriate meals in accordance to said sickness. Keeping our house “sanitary”. I’d like to tell you that Chris and I are each others greatest cheerleaders, but that usually isn’t the case. Often times we are each feeling overworked and under appreciated and we know that the other feels it. But because we also know that this is part of the life we’ve created together, we realize that at this stage of the game the best thing we can do for each other is not make a big stink, about how overworked and under appreciated we feel. Sometimes we just say it to each other with our eyes, across a Sloppy Joe laden dinner table. “Hey you, you look rough. Thanks for being here.”
We are also really good at timing our emotional waves of hopelessness so that they never come at the same time. Him or me, never both of us. Like when he goes back to nursing school after his christmas break and he has to re-acclamate to the work load and the stress level and he’s freaking out before bed, “Why did I do this?! Why did I think this was a good idea? What’s wrong with me?!” And then there’s me after a long week of sick kids and I just run out the front door and don’t come back for 45 minutes and when I return maybe 1 out of 7 people missed me and little do they know I was trying to pretend to run away but lacked the balls to get the job done.
There are times when Chris walks through the door and there is so much I would like to tell him, but as it turns out…there are six other people in our house who want to tell him stuff also. Sometimes he calls me in the last 10 minutes of his drive home, and if I’m able to answer and step onto the back porch to talk, those ten minutes may be the only unbroken communication we have that day.
So this is where I share with you my absolute favorite moment of this otherwise desperately long and cold season. Other than those amazing ten minute phone calls, Chris has this other thing he does that he probably doesn’t think much of, but to me it represents an intimacy that I sometimes forget that we have. He walks in the door with a sense of urgency and purpose (knowing he’ll forget whats he’s doing if he lets himself be distracted) and heads right for a piece of technology where he can look up and share a song that he heard during the day. A song that perhaps made him feel deeply, or marvel at a musical dynamic or just made him happy. It’s like he’s inviting me into a part of himself that I love so much and frankly, it was one of his most attractive qualities when we met. His musical ear and his remarkable instrumental talent. He also knows that if I turn any music on during the day, its probably just songs about Choo-Choo trains or puppies and caterpillars.
The family was already seated around the table, mid dinner…Chris had worked later than usual. I was holding exceptionally fussy Noah on my lap while he pawed at a mess of food in front of him. Chris didn’t say much while he located the song he wanted to share. I remember feeling slightly melancholy as the baby reached his saucy hands up to make contact with my face. The song begins to play through the kitchen. The kids are muted enough that I can make sense of the lyrics. A Jason Isbell song, Chris informs me.
“I’ve heard this song a hundred times but only really listened to the lyrics today.”
“Huh.” I’m intrigued.
The first verse is a proclamation of the things the singer must love about his mate. Nothing that spoke to me personally. The melody was beautiful though. I keep listening. The chorus.
Its knowing that this can’t go on forever
Likely one of us will have to spend some days alone
Maybe we’ll get forty years together
But one day I’ll be gone
Or one day you’ll be gone
I’m not in the mood to let it all out in front of the kids, but I look up at him and he’s purposely looking at the floor…to avoid the eye contact that is going to remind us of EVERYTHING! We know we will be reminded that we’ve already been together 18 years and our life isn’t what we thought it would be, but its so good. Its rich in all the ways you want it to be.
He looks at me, I’m crying. He comes over and puts his arm around me and our saucy handed baby and he starts crying too. Some kid is like, “What? Whats this song about?” Cause you know, kid ears.
The next verse.
If we were vampires and death was a joke
We’d go out on the sidewalk and smoke
Laugh at all the lovers and their plans
I wouldn’t feel the need to hold your hand
Maybe time running out is a gift
I’ll work hard to the end of my shift
And give you every second I can find
And hope it isn’t me who’s left behind
We try to offer the kids so type of generic answer, but the words can’t match the moment. They are left staring on while we have a good cry and what we’ll call our first date in a few months.
I can’t instruct you on how to have an overwhelming moment of realization with your spouse of the frailty and preciousness of what you have. I can tell you that the road to appreciation station for us, involved a lot of crap that you don’t even want to talk about. The emergency hospitalization of our 10 month old. The unexpected sickness and stress of the holidays. A falling out with a close family member. Broken down vehicles and appliances that can’t be numbered. Sleepless nights. News headlines that seem unreal. The undeniable blase’ that the winter generously affords to dish out. Sadly, too many of us don’t linger long enough in that realization. We become caught up in the details and lose sight of the gift. Look around. Enjoy the gift.
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