"I learned the best way to manage some kinds of painful thoughts, is to dare them to do their worst, to let them lie and gnaw at your heart till they are tired; and you find you still have a residue of life they cannot kill." - George MacDonald, "Phantastes"
Dan and I talk of death in bed in the wee hours while it's still dark as I awake, unable to return to sleep. The brevity and fierceness of existence overtakes and paralyzes me in those moments. My sweet husband talks me through, shares the fears but ultimately, lets it go. We cannot hold on, terrifying as it is to accept death and old age (granted, I'm far from there, but I see it on the horizon, clearly at times).
We've shared many a tender talk of death and the swift passage of life before - talks that always remain special to me for the vulnerability in which we see the thin thread always between us and death at every moment. The thread we'd rather not acknowledge but ultimately have to.
Oddly, what comes out of and is left from those waking hours is gratefulness. I realize in the brazen light of day that I wouldn't feel such an ache of loss if I didn't have something rich to lose. We have so much, Dan and I. I am cognizant, as I am whenever I stop to reflect, that we are truly happy together... we have fought to find and keep each other and it hasn't always been easy, but we've been supremely happy together and our daily life reflects that.
Never am I happier to come home than to him, and he to me. Never has it been better to share all the things I love most than with him. Never have I regretted leaving my singleness behind, just as being with him has not taken away my independence but only made me more of who I am, freer, strengthened in unity as we reach for the same things. It's amazing to look at our life now, the habits we share, the way our cozy nights home play out (we've had a number of sweet ones lately) and see that even to the littlest detail, we're living the life we dreamed of living, we're in the kind of space we hoped to be in.
We have not, and do not, talk of forced stereotypes we have to fulfill with each other, in marriage, in life. Our home, whether in chores, decorating, obligations, daily activities, is not divided into 'his' and 'hers'. Sure, we share many passions, though not all - we each have our little things we work on separately (though in the same room as we share in our industriousness - Dan sews, works on the website or music, while I read, write, organize). He and I each have nights with girl or guy friends and both love our alone time. Always have. But there is no labeling or restriction, no closing in or dividing. All is on the table. All is possible but that we dream it together. All can be had if we agree and are lead to the same place... the point is to seek together, create together, evolve together, form who we have been, are now and will be, together.
That's why even pursuits like my food writing, I do with him. Though I write and research, we both enjoy the fruits of the research together (it's great to have a household of passionate eaters!), he builds and works toilessly on the website, making it ours, even with my name on it.
Community efforts, Arts Nights, human trafficking (and other issues we work in together), hospitality, constantly opening our home up to guests, groups, talks, meals and creative exploits. We create that space together, as we long prayed our home would be such a place, even though a one bedroom apartment. We've seen no end to incredible memories here - almost five years in this apartment! Hard to believe.
We travel together, planning in excitement, each into the details. We go to places of European ethos like we did alone in our 20's, sharing the same desire and value to live out that ethos (of the arts, lingering, good food, wine, culture, conversation, aware of beauty, poetic) in our own life, which we do in the life we've created here in San Fran.
As we did at age 18 when we met, we still both thrill to the foam on a cappuccino (or crema atop a good coffee), the gentle light of sunset, to the strains of a classical piano solo or a jazz quartet, the chime of ancient church bells, watching people and pigeons in a town square or Italian piazza, smelling the smoke out of a BBQ hut in the South, whatever it is, we come alive in the details. How rare a gift is that? It means we can create a life of these things, celebrate them, embrace them, surround ourselves with them and soar in the freedom of our spirits when fully ourselves.
How can I not be grateful? I ache to lose because I love my life. I sometimes fear loss and old age in my sleepless hours because it could mean losing this, losing Dan, losing the freedom we take for granted, losing the beauty of a life made by two best friends, not two people trying to make the other into a certain image, ideal or mold (thank God, I got broken of that in a fierce way in the years before our marriage).
I fear because I have so much. I realize I cannot love my life too much nor hold on too tight. For what we ache for most... together... is ultimately not fully fulfilled now. Every thing we love and share is a taste, always leaving us ravenous for more. I have to believe that over that horizon called death is all that more. Not the end but the next chapter... more full and ragingly beautiful than I dared hope.
Currently watching : The Office: Season Four
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