thegiftoflove的中文 The Best Kind of Love

The Best Kind of Love  

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: mitment
shared interests
unselfishness
physical attraction
munication. 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 fiveness. When I’m embarrasssingly loud and crazy at parties
Scott fives 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 fortable. 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.”