Chick Fil A-nniversary

Today is our 21st wedding anniversary. If our marriage wanted to publicly consume alcohol, it may legally do so now. And I think it may.

But not today. Today our marriage wants to celebrate by staying in and eating this. Pictured together, but eaten separately.

My husband of 21 years is sick with one of those bugs going around. But I dressed up for work just in case he was feeling better and wanted to go to dinner when I got home. He was willing but common sense prevailed. 

I gave him his gift in the plastic bag I brought it home in, changed into my sweats, and thought about what I would make of this anniversary with no flowers, dressing up, or dinner out. After shrugging off disappointment and completing a quick mental review of other disappointments (because we do that, don’t we?), I will tell you my conclusion is different than ever before. 

It’s different because yesterday my grief support group for spouses learned that one of our newest members took her life. She missed her husband so desperately and could not imagine living even one more day without him. She received ongoing and tireless love and support from our members: Phone calls, texts, visits at her house and theirs, lunches, dinners, and walks with people who have been there and are there—and yet we could not take away the one choice she chose.

Today, we grieve together and ask ourselves all of the same questions. What a comfort we receive in one another as we face the limits of our power but never, ever our love.

Marriage is not Hallmark movies and walks on the beach. At least not always or even most of the time.

Sometimes it is being left behind and losing yourself afterward. Sometimes it is weeks (months?) of ships-passing-in-the-night dotted by fleeting moments of profound connection. Sometimes it is caregiving or being disappointed. Sometimes it is splitting up so you can cart kids to different places at different times on different planets. Sometimes it is being grateful for Alzheimer’s disease because it gave you the opportunity to be together 24/7 for 15 years, along with the realization that without it you would still have been working (and apart). Sometimes it is years of living together followed by years of living alone. And sometimes it is eating chicken noodle soup by yourself from a cardboard bowl on your 21st anniversary. 

When you do life with married people who have been left behind by their spouse, you’re grateful for however you can get it. You know how profoundly interwoven two lives can become and you know how separation leaves every thread bare and aching. 

And because you know this, you can be content on a rainy anniversary—knowing that not grieving the one you love is gift enough. Except when you’re wishing for a little bit more, at which time you can remember he de-bones the chicken every time without being asked and a hundred other things just like it, because he loves you every day and not just on the special ones.

Marriage Counseling on Mondays

Today is our 19th wedding anniversary.  It would be easy just to post a pretty picture and congratulate ourselves on a marriage that keeps getting better and better, because it does.  But, it could not convey the gratitude I have for Monday meetings that hold my feet to the marriage fire (however uncomfortable that may be) nor let my marriage counselors know their message is out, and you’ve been invited in.

Today is our 19th wedding anniversary, and there is something you should know.  I meet regularly with 20 or so marriage counselors.  Every Monday.  All at the same time.  

I agree.  It’s a little unconventional.  

But, it works.  

My marriage counselors understand the blessing and the work required in marriage.  They understand keeping your vows in sickness and in health until “death do us part.”  They believe in a love stronger than death because they lived it, and they continue to live it.  Their spouses of 7, 38, 56, 60 years and all the years in between, left this earthly life without them.

They show up on Mondays to learn from each other, and I am there to learn from them.  They don’t talk at the same time, but they say the same thing.  

They share their undying love for their spouse and their horror as they observe husbands and wives taking each other for granted, being cool, dismissive, and unkind.  They want to shake us, or avoid us altogether because our ignorance hurts them so.  

Oh, what they would give for what we blindly throw away. 

Everyone in the room has lost their spouse, but me.  Yet, they let me sit at the table and ask questions, and pray, and learn. 

I pry.  No, they don’t ever remember being lonely in their marriage before their spouse died.  

Really?  

Yes, really.  Because their spouse was still there, they tell me.  Any loneliness they felt in marriage while their spouse was living was so pale in comparison to the loneliness of widowhood, it slips into non-existence.  All of the loneliness, little annoyances and irritations, hurts and disagreements slip into…

I wish we had room for silent observers, I tell them.  I wish other married people could sit where I sit, and see what I see, and hear what I hear.  Especially those who are coasting along, those who are troubled, and those who are ready to quit…The tired, fed-up, and unhappy.  

I also wish scarcity of time and abiding love weren’t so-darn-easy to doubt.  But, I’m a married woman staying up late to write while my husband sleeps in our bed, and I know that they are.  Only I have years of Mondays to remind me of the truth, and when I forget, Monday is never more than seven days away.

So, Happy 19th Anniversary to us!  It just keeps getting better and better.  Mondays (and all of the days) remind me of the treasure I have in my husband, the time we have, the life we share, the memories we’ve made and the pictures we’re lucky enough to keep taking.  Thank you to my husband whose love continues to mold me and to all who make sure I never forget.  

Sheltering In Place - Week Four

Just wanted to capture and share a few thoughts during this fourth week of “sheltering in place” for my own mental time capsule, and in case you are wondering what other people are thinking (since it has been about a hundred years since anything like this has happened).

We are continuing to make an effort to prevent the continuous and rapid spread of COVID-19 by keeping to ourselves, 6-feet apart.  My county is up to 97 confirmed cases with 7 dead.  These are the only numbers I check daily.  This practice reminds me of a line in an old Jewel song.  “I’m sensitive and I’d like to stay that way.”  Big numbers in places far away just feel like more than I can carry, or do anything about. I’m afraid that makes me small-minded, but not afraid enough to change what’s working.  Not yet.

I’m writing this post from my new work-from-home station - A folding table set up in my bedroom with a sheet for a tablecloth, and a lamp I will move back to my bedside table each night.

This came about yesterday evening, after finding myself increasingly grumpy throughout the day.  I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, so I did what I do.  Sat down and wrote a list of all of the things that were stealing my peace.  I was surprised at its length.

- Increased emotional pain for the sick, dying, and grieving due to social distancing
- Decreased ability to allay it or accompany those who are hurting.
- Slow computer
- Website access issues
- Uploading issues (for kids’ homework submission)
- No comfortable work-from-home space
- Tension between feeling the need to be at home and need to be elsewhere
- Tension between the risk and benefit of visiting those who are most vulnerable

I felt better when I saw the list had some legitimate and substantial items, and even better when my husband offered and created a solution for the one thing he could fix.  (My solution for the same problem was to go sit in the car.)

So, here I sit in my new “office”, fully aware that if/when this virus affects anyone in my family or anyone we are responsible for, my list will look like a Christmas list rather than a list of reasons I was struggling.

This silent accumulation of things adding their own unique weight, however slight, helps me to understand the way people have been asking, “How are things going with you?” as though we’ve suffered a loss unique to us.  I can see their question as an extension of the compassion they are feeling for themselves and for all of us in our “collective grief”, as we live without our routines, fast food, and contact with the people who bring variety, love, and respite from our own thoughts.

As I rack my brain for ways to love those who are hurting and mitigate the other things on my list, I find myself thinking more and more like a 5-year-old.  In fact, I got my first blister from drawing with chalk today, at age 42.

I would scoff at a physician if she handed me a prescription for surviving a pandemic that read “Draw with chalk on a friend’s driveway”.  But, I wrote the same prescription for myself today and it didn’t seem so laughable.  “Go outside.  Do something for someone else.  Be creative and get chalk dust on your hands p.r.n. for duration of COVID-19 pandemic.” (signed illegibly, H. Dixon)

While I’m writing prescriptions on my new imaginary prescription pad, I am loaning some out, too.  Particularly to the dying who don’t think about dying, but about taking one day at a time, and to the person who said, “Stay out of your head because it is too dangerous a neighborhood to be in alone.”

Wanted or Needed?

Today is my (our) 16th wedding anniversary.  Sweet 16!  Is somebody going to surprise us with a new car?!   Great, if you plan to make the payments.  If not, we're good with what we've got.   Thank you, though.

I'm grateful for a reason to celebrate today, as my heart is heavy after attending the funeral of a long- time friend and man I loved yesterday.  His wife is one of my dearest friends and one of the strongest people I know.  During the service, she got up to speak after I sang their wedding song.  I marvel at what she is made out of.

So, recognizing the profound loss of a spouse, and knowing many who are living with that reality, I am trying to feel celebratory because years of marriage don't come easy.

In marriage, there are things you have to "agree to disagree" on.  We have some, and they are pretty big things.

Like Need vs. Want, for example.

Early in our marriage, we lived in the country and I stayed home with our two boys who were less than a year apart.  My days were long and I couldn't wait until my husband got home.  On a bad day, even five extra minutes to change a lightbulb after work could send me into a tailspin.

It was probably after one of those days that I expressed my concern to my husband.  "I need you more than you need me."   He said that I was right.  He didn't need me.  He wanted me.  And that was better.

I think I'm still recovering.  But, over the years, I've considered and even defended his position.  I know that it is difficult to love when need is great, and even more so, when what you have to offer is never enough.  Who has energy left over to feel and/or be loving when you're wiped out from meeting demands?  I get it.

I just don't think need and want can be so easily separated.

I believe that humans have a basic need for other human beings.  We all know about the horrific studies of the children who had food and drink, but died without human touch. We need to love and be loved.  To see and be seen.  To understand and be understood.  We are interdependent.  My entire life has bathed in and revolved around this need, and I'm guessing yours has, too.

So, I have a hard time believing my marriage is the exception.  The place where need is cast out or transcended, and we've arrived at the more esteemed place - desire. 

But, if you define need as "necessary for survival", my husband is right.  He doesn't need me.  Unless we are talking about a child in its mother's womb, one person does not need another person to survive.  Even caretakers providing life-sustaining care can be replaced by others with the same skill set.

It is halting for me to consider the possibility that while we do have need of other human beings, we don't actually have a need for a particular one.  I value relationship above all else and it feels like a betrayal to even write such a thing.

But, desire is a different thing altogether.

My husband defends this with everything that is in him.  We need water to survive, but it is our beverage of choice that we enjoy.  We have closets full of clothes that make it acceptable for us to be in society and to keep us warm, but we have our favorite sweatshirt.  He is my Pepsi and I am his camoflage pullover.

I am resistant and moved at the same time.  And so it goes.

This morning, I spent an hour ironing one shirt.  I might even have tried to touch it up after the boy put it on (it wasn't that hot and he was wearing an undershirt).  It's embarassing how pathetic I am at ironing.

I can get away with this, because my husband does it.  He was a Marine and they know how to iron.

He provides for our family, makes the coffee, teaches our boys how to shoot stuff, picks up after me (and never complains), and fixes everything.   I do most of the cooking, the bulk of the laundry, pay the bills, and take kids to doctor's appointments.

The rest of life is an ongoing negotiation.  Not like with hostages, but sort of.  Sometimes.

In sixteen years of marriage, we've learned that you can go to bed mad, and other than not sleeping well, you can still make a full recovery.  We've learned that whether we agree on who is needed or what is wanted, what gives life meaning, or what "bedtime" actually means, we can still have a lot of fun, and be glad we're doing life with someone who is so unlike our self.

Marriage must be the smallest and yet most profound celebration of "Unity in Diversity" there ever was, is, or shall be.

Happy Anniversary to us, and congratulations to all who still find a way to find a way to make it work.  To all who are missing your spouse, and wishing for nothing more than 10 more minutes or one more fight, my heart aches for you.  Thank you for the reminder that what is, will not always be.  It is good to keep that in mind.

In It To Win It

We made it!  

Today is our 15th wedding anniversary!  Where are the stickers and t-shirts?!  My runner friends call it swag.  Seriously, where can I find a 15.0 sticker?  I want one.

Not being a runner in the well-understood sense, I know marriage will be the longest race I will ever run.  I'm pretty sure it is a marathon on steroids.  You know the particulars of your own marriage and you know the particulars of mine, because I've shared them with the you.

I want to apologize if I have burdened you with the nuances of my emotional landscape.  As one who lives and works in the world of feelings and as a writer, it is my pleasure, privilege, and duty to attach words to things that can be difficult to explain and more difficult to admit.  The intention behind my transparency is always to instruct, encourage, accompany, and glorify God in the reality and dailiness of it all.   

Since writing last, I've heard from many people who are concerned for me and my marriage.  A sincere thank you.  You have been a great comfort and remind me of this...

2 Corinthians 1:3-5, "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.  For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort, too.

I would like to comfort you, as well.  Brett and I have been married for 15 years.  What feels fleeting is not.  What feels irreparable is not.  What feels like loss is gain.  This month in the deep, in the desert, in the woods, or whatever you want to call it, has produced more fruit for me (and hopefully, us) than years combined.  I know my husband and myself better now than ever before.

I am in awe of that.  When you're a human being and married, life always comes one day at a time.  It is easy to believe that everything we believe, feel, and understand comes gradually.  This is simply not true.  Things can change in an instant, and they do all of the time.  The drop of a name, an eyeroll, a hint of ingratitude or contempt, a new baby,  a terminal diagnosis, a death, an unexpected gift or word of praise.  You name it...

All of my writings have been "blessed and approved" by my husband.  I love this about him.  It takes enviable confidence and incredible trust to give blanket permission to  another person, who knows you better than anyone else, to disclose whatever seems relevant to the thought for the day.  He can do this because he knows "we" are not going anywhere.  And I can write freely about all of the ups and downs, devastations and joys, because I know "we" are not going anywhere, either.

In the past month, I've watched a young couple make their vows and start their life together.  I've stumbled  around somewhere in the middle of  winning, losing, surviving, and thriving.  I've met people in the "sickness" part of their promise, where their own need becomes exclusively that of meeting the needs of their other.  All other needs, which once held a place of high regard and importance for them are left behind, and they do not see anything heroic about this.  I've attended a grief group for my work, where a dozen women shared the trials of continuing to live after their spouse has died, and how burning a candle in their place at the table might be a comfort to them this Thanksgiving.

I realize flames of hope come in as many ways as people, places, and times.  I am grateful for the journey of being married, for my fearless husband, and all of the people who walk with us in the adventure called life.  My new favorite quote, as shared with me by a dear friend, reminds me of the goal of it all.  Intimacy.

"Intimacy requires a clear self, relentless self-focus, open communication, and a profound respect for differences."                                  -Harriet Lerner