or "What A Difference A Work-Week Makes"
I love my wife.
I've known that for over six years. But with the near ceaseless bombardment of each others company, carpooling day-in and day-out, since August 4th, 2007 (yes, that is actually the date it all began), we’ve worn on the others nerves for far too long, and that bright, glorious luster of love seemes to have diminished somewhat over time, tarnished by the continual wear of ridesharing.
It's like the slow, incessant flow of water working it’s way through stone; the softest of things eroding the hardest of things: it takes a long time, but it’s effect is evident, and at times, blindingly brutal.
We each needed a holiday from the other. We both knew it and looked forward to it. But as that day grew nearer the gravity of the arrangement began to weigh on me, and my exuberant anticipation quickly waned. A few days before we parted it suddenly dawned on me: for the first time in a long time, and for an extended period of time, I would not have my charming and incomparable companion by my side. That day of “freedom” I had been so eagerly awaiting was fast approaching, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Ticket’s bought. Pick-ups arranged. Promises made.
I reassured myself: it’s only a few days; I’ll be fine, she’ll be fine, life would go on as usual; besides, we could still talk on the phone, that’s nearly as good as talking face to face.
I was mostly right.
It was only a few days, but that didn’t seem to matter nor make it any easier—one day was quite enough, thank you very much. Both of us were, in the grand scheme of things, fine, but I felt...off, as if some vital part of myself was missing, and she, at the very least, was cold and didn’t sleep well with no one to cuddle (I kid—I know this was no cakewalk for her either, but it's not my place to speak for her). Life did go on as usual, but it seemed wanting. We did talk on the phone, but it was certainly no substitute for having her physically with me.
That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy myself. I did. But, she never left my thoughts, and there were countless moments I wished she was there, experiencing what I was: the wonderfully wacky family fun, the splendid sights and stirring sounds of nature, the relentless rain...oh, the rain!...and the tasty treats I continuously stuffed into my insatiable cakehole.
But more to the point of this whole experience, I found myself reliving situations alone with a great deal more grace and patience than I remember having with her, and I was overwhelmed with guilt upon this realization. The minor delays and foibles that everyone cause and possess were magnified in her and always seemed to touch on my last nerve more than they ever should have.
I’ve been an intolerant ass. I’ve been a impatient jerk. And I apologize for my shortcomings, and vow to do and be better. She deserves it.
In her absence, I’ve rediscovered the boundless love I’ve had for her from the beginning, in all it’s brilliant glory; it has slough off the oily veneer that’s accumulated over years of endless, and occasionally careless handling, and has restored it to it’s true radiance.
Yes, it stinks that it took what it did for this epiphany to manifest itself, but I’m delighted things unfolded the way they have. I think we could all use a good kick in the pants like this from time to time to truly appreciate what we have. It’s too easy to get caught up in minutiae of day-to-day life and lose sight of what’s important.
Go out of your way to show someone you care about that you love them—saying it is easy.
