Ours are even more gnarled.
Everyone has a story, and it’s this fascination with people’s stories that’s been such a big part of my life as both a therapist and a writer. In my story, it’s dark out, 4:30 AM, and I’ve already been awake for an hour or two.
My husband’s in the hospital on day three of recovery from an emergency operation, and infection and pneumonia still lurk, twin predators prowling the shiny halls of that hospital. I said to myself when I started this blog, that it was never going to be self-indulgent navel gazing—it was going to be about living a creative life in Hawaii, and I would touch on universal human themes and keep it light and entertaining.
But my guess is, these are universal human themes—and in my own story I have been powerfully loved by a complex man. He’s a big man, both in presence and physicality, and as he’s aged the loss of the physicality part has hit him hard, and we’ve both been going through that for awhile (see “Midlife: She is a Cruel Mistress) but this latest thing has actually had me wondering if he’s going to make it.
So many kinds of love, so many shades and depths. Parental love, sister love (I never got to know brotherly love, though in this crisis I told three of my brothers-in-law I loved them, and felt their love too) love of a child. Love for my clients. Love of humanity (in a global-peace kinda way, with assistance of champagne while toasting) and love of grandparents, aunts, uncles, colleagues and dear friends.
This is about Eros, romantic love, the kind of love that propels people across the length of California to spend just an evening together, as we did in the early days of our courtship. Love hit me like a freight train, painfully devastating in its way, a life-changing vortex of turbulent highs and lows. I just had to have a strong and difficult man, and in the story of life I was constructing, I starred as the virgin in the woods who tamed a unicorn to lay his head in my lap.
(Course, once I had him I then had to live with him, and that hasn’t always been easy . Some have even proposed I’m not the easiest person either, that the two of us are more like twin stars with equal gravitational pull trying for dominance.)
Still, we’ve done some crazy wonderful things in 25 years (we’re a month shy of our anniversary) and underneath it all is a certainty that from a young age, I’ve been loved. Well and truly loved, and given it back in equal share. That has given me a strength to do and achieve things I wonder at in hindsight, and know at least in part, the combustion of that love provided fuel that’s carried me through half my life.
Love changes. This is something you read about but never really believe, just like the part that old age is going to happen to you. It waxes and wanes. The early passion when it was perfectly normal to have sex twice a day certainly changes. Throw on stress of work and careers, raising a family, mortgages, finances, different goals, personalities, old childhood wounds, and health issues—and it’s amazing anyone stays married anymore.
And it seems to be more and more ok that people don’t.
I don’t want that to be my story though. I started with a fairy tale (at least in my own silly mind) and that’s the kind of story I still want, the story I’m fighting for when I sent us both on yet another round of marriage counseling, the story I’m fighting for when I called not one, but two churches to send their prayer teams to come visit us in hospital. (A stream of kindly strangers appear at the door, nervously clutching Bibles, to pray over my husband. I can’t seem to, and so it’s so great to just let someone else fumble for the words as I sit sniffling and wiping mascara on the sheets)
“It doesn’t come off,” he said, when they tried to get his wedding band off for the surgery. His wedding ring is a plain gold band, and over the years has become embedded in his powerful, long-fingered hand. They ended up covering it with surgical tape.
It’s that hand, so graceful, strong and artistic, that shows my husband’s character. His hand has carved sculptures, built homes, carried babies, taken amazing photographs, fixed meals, and touched me everywhere a woman can be touched. That hand with the ring embedded in it has become a symbol to me of everything love can be. Not easy. Not always pretty. There are scars on that hand, arthritis in the knuckles, and scratches on the gold.
It doesn’t matter a bit, because that ring doesn’t come off.
I’m crying as I write this. I’ve never been much of a stoic and frankly, I don’t believe in it. Tears carry off cortisol, our primary stress hormone. Sometimes I actually feel how toxic they are, burning my cheeks like acid, and if I cry now, I won’t need to cry later.
Also, Psa. 58:6 says, “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” I like the image of a bottle of my tears, of God keeping track of them. It must be a fr*cking gallon jug by now, and I hope God uses them for something useful.
Tiny bottles captured tears of mourners in ancient times. Good idea.
I’m sure my husband will be up and around soon, grumpy at being ill, eager to upload the pictures of the sunrise he’s taken through his hospital window and embarrassed that I wrote about him on the blog, something he made me promise not to do.
But some promises are made to be broken, just like others are meant to be kept.
This is an absolutely gorgeous essay. Made me cry. Made me look at my own ring and notice in a new way the guy in the chair next to mine. Thank you so much for this. ~Ilie
Thank you for the heartfelt response, it means so much.
Beautiful, Toby and heart felt. In moment of crisis or loss, things become very clear what is important. He’ll forgive you.
I hope so!
Gosh Toby, Now you’ve got me sitting here in New Zealand with those toxic tears pouring down my face. You know dear friend/sister…my love and prayers are coming across that big ocean. You tell Mike to get up and get better…he and Ric just simply must meet and go surfing together.
Indeed I look forward to that day.
Thanks Toby, for writing this beautiful piece.
and thank you for being a friend!
Thanks for writing this. It takes courage, I know. And you’re right, it isn’t self-indulgent navel gazing. It touches a very human chord for many reasons. My very best wishes to you both.
Thanks Greta. I’ve read some courageous writing lately that’s showed me it can be done without sappiness.
I knew that this story would in your blog sooner or later, but I had no idea how powerful and beautiful it would be. I’m not usually a crier……..this is an exception!!!
Julie, there is no higher compliment.
Thank you for being you. And sharing authentic stories. The world is a better place for that. Love, Rose.
Dear Rose, dear friend, I got your message and I so appreciate it. Let’s talk soon.
Mare Serenitatis
On the edge of the sea today I stood
and cried;
salt water everywhere around and more
inside
squeezing from my tear ducts however hard
I tried
to stop the tears from coming so I could
just hide…
and they poured and I wept and the sea just kept
on coming and going,
coming and going,
coming and going.
And I am here
while there is the sea
and always will be;
deep and wide.
M.Brenton
XXXX
This is gorgeous! Thank you for sharing.
This is beautiful. The ring’s permanence is a sign of strength between you two.
What a great feeling seeing that image gave me! *tears up a little bit*
Thank you Eileen. Permanence, yes.
OK, made me cry 🙂
Thanks Sweetie – I love you too!
“It won’t come off”
*sniff*
I will be taking you up on that big diamond you promised me.
*hee hee*
You and your husband are inspirations to me, and the love/relationship you share is admirable, adorable, and definitely something we should strive for. Beyond that, it’s REAL. Ups and downs, but you guys work at it and a ton of people nowadays should take notice of how. It’s. Done.
Okay, now I’m gushing, but it will keep me from crying (an unfortunate accident this week left me with a cut above my eye and a nice shade of purple surrounding–beats eye shadow–so it hurts to wipe it and thus crying is bad right now. But I digress.)
I wish him a speedy recovery and one of these days, I hope to give you both huge hugs.
Thanks Noelle, I’m counting on it. Thanks for being a friend in every way.
My dear friend,
You are such an incredible writer to put feelings, thoughts and emotions into words in a way we all can relate to in our shared humanness . We are so much more the same in our dreams and fears then we think which means we can also be role models, mentors and guides for each other in how we make it through hard and challenging times. I am so glad to have you in my life and deeply appreciate your sharing, as always with love and many blessings, Shakti.
Love you too! Thanks for all the gold and jewels that surround me!