The best kind of love

The Best Kind of Love

作者: Annette Paxman Bowen   |  发布日期: 2005-7-6 17:34:52

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.