Those Four Little Words

My wife said those four little words that every husband wants to hear this weekend. In fact, she said them several times. She screamed those words in the basement, called to me from the kitchen, and even whispered them in the bedroom. It was a really good weekend. I love those words. After 26 years of marriage, I don’t hear them nearly often enough. But when they waft from her lips to my ears, they keep the fire burning.

Of course, like any dutiful husband, when she said them I willingly complied. No matter where I was in the house I came running. With a smile on my face I performed my duty to the best of my ability. I used to be quicker, but I was a young buck then – more concerned with just getting the job done than savoring the job itself.

I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable. I realize it has gotten a little personal, but I must say that I’m proud of my performance over the weekend. If I sat around with the fellas at the gym and regaled them with how many times she uttered those words to me in the past few days, I’d get high fives, “atta boys”, and maybe even a chest bump or two. I’d be a legend.

What do you imagine those words to be?

“Come here, big boy.”

“The kids are asleep.”

“Let’s get it on.”

 

Nah… Not even close.

My wife uttered the phrase that keeps me coming back:

 

“Just throw it away!”

 

I love those four little words!

From her lips to my aching back – we did it. We did it over and over again. We threw stuff away like a pair of wild rabbits cleaning out their borrow for spring.

This summer, the family has cleaned out several basement rooms, bedrooms, and more  closets than I knew we had. Over the long weekend I made multiple trips to the dump and Goodwill. It was awesome! Possibly the best weekend I’ve had in a long time.

It also begs the question, “How did we get so much stuff?”

It is seriously crazy how much junk one couple can compile. We aren’t at all rich. It’s not great stuff. It’s just stuff. There was half a storage room crammed full of things we haven’t touched since we moved into our house 19 years ago. It’s all gone now.

Wives, do you want to breath life into that relationship? Then softly whisper those four little words into his ear. Unless he’s the hoarder, I assure you he’ll respond.

Husbands, listen for once! This is how you keep a marriage alive. Spend some time throwing out the dead weight together – As long as you’re not the dead weight, disposing of it is sure to satisfy.

The Tenuous Gap

I walked to a familiar place and she was there. Ten years old, not a care in the world. Happy, bubbly, effervescent. I tried to keep from hugging her every second because I knew what she did not: I knew her existence was impossible. Even asleep I knew. It could never last long enough. But I didn’t want to act like I knew for fear something would change.

She glided – her full, long hair bouncing as we walked. We talked about everything and nothing. She held my hand innocently – that little hand threading itself into mine. I felt a stillness and a stirring love, immutable passion toward this thing that was and is no more. This family, forever changed. Still living, breathing, loving… but different than before. My restless soul felt peace.

Friends came to us and marveled because they knew what she did not. And I asked, “Do you see her? Am I crazy?”

They affirmed her presence and we strolled on. Blissfully and mercifully we strolled on.

And then, she left. As quickly as she came, she is gone and I am awake immediately. Morning light peeks around black curtains facing east. I roll onto my back and blink away tears because she is gone. Gone.

The distance between her visits has been too long. I lay awake, cursing the cruel ceiling that won’t let my mind drift back to sleep. It can’t rest now. It is focused – those bygone days of completeness… that little hand threading itself into mine. Long minutes pass. Cursing rolls to acceptance of what cannot be changed and the dream that will not be resurrected. I am keenly aware that the pillow is wet, past damp, it is wet. Are the tears rolling down my face of longing? Or are they tears of happiness? Because for a moment, for just a brief moment I felt it all! The hope… the love… the completeness… the sadness of loss.

“I love being here with them, but I hate being here without her.”

Without her is the way we now live. When loss digs its heals into one’s soul, life becomes a struggle to find stasis. There is a tenuous gap between happiness and sadness. The two are intertwined. Happiness is a possibility, sadness inevitable and thus there exists a fight for the zero point while being pulled at both ends – the little flag on a tug-of-war rope. Most grievers would say that happiness is the underdog. It never wins for long.

I am a griever. Yet I am a dreamer, too. I dream, and she is there. And I am happy for a moment. Eventually I must wake up and pull the rope against the big brute of sadness for my share of happiness – however small the portion. I will pull. I will smile. I will win… at times. I will also lose. But until my dying day I will pull. For even a fleeting victory is worth the struggle.