Marriage Moats-I Forget
Published: Mon, 03/07/11
| Marriage Moats | Caring for Marriage |
 I forget appointments, or promises to bring cookies to school. Recently my teenager asked me to help him with his homework, and I was embarrassed to realize I can no longer factor polynomials. Once upon a time I could, but I have forgotten how. The
feeling of forgetting is like when I look in the refrigerator and there
is no guacamole. I expected there to be, since I was planning a Mexican
dinner, but the little corner of the middle shelf where I usually put
it has peanut butter instead.
I have a son with autism. There are some things he never seems to forget. He knows what happened in the twelfth scene of Toy Story (Woody got lost at the gas station), or the date we went to the shore two summers ago, (June 28th, 2009). He knows the 23rd president (Benjamin Harrison) and the day of the week Christmas will fall on in 2011 (Sunday). How is it that some things stay velcroed in our memories, and others fall off like the magnets on the fridge?
I don't think I am morally depraved because I cannot factor polynomials. But if I were subbing in Algebra 2, I would be remiss if I did not bone up on those skills. Running out of guacamole is not a tragedy either. I have enough loose change in my pocket and gas in the car to go get some.
Even forgotten appointments will not land me in jail, though occasionally there is a penalty. That is why I go to the effort to put reminders on my phone, or in my daily planner. Feelings can slip through my sieve like brain too. One time I banished
a recalcitrant child to his room for misbehaving. He continued to spew
insults at me. I forbade him to speak. After a poignant pause he
quietly asked, "Do you still love me?"
I sighed. My scowl softened. "Just barely."
He
reminded me, at a time when the knowledge had thunked to the floor and
was about to get kicked under the refrigerator, that I do indeed love
this small boy.
There are ways to help the forgetful among us to keep hold of those
good feelings, when they threaten to evaporate in puffs of anger. But a few years into the relationship, it feels less well stocked.
Sitting across from my spouse is not as riveting as it was when we were
newly married. Seeing him walk through the door does not set my heart
afire they way it did when that simple gesture was less expected, in
our dating era.
Yet I can replenish those emotions almost as easily as I can the algebraic equations. I can bone up on loving. We
have a habit, long established, that every phone call ends with, "I
love you." It flits off my tongue without fanfare. After a romantic
call about our pending evening out, the words come as easily as they
did in my twenties. But after a terse exchange about the bank account,
it is less of an effusion, and more of a reminder. To me.
I purposefully hang photographs of us in the stairwell, where every descent to the living room takes me past the captured images, unphotoshopped, of abundant love. Is it true? I wonder. Can I feel that way again? Sometimes
we hold hands, not as a reaction to friendly feelings, but as an
invitation to them to return. Kisses, too, can erupt as an irresistible
response, or as a way to open up memories of past kisses.
That calendar can rescue me here too. I put "Marriage Group" on Wednesday night, and sure enough, Wednesday comes and I sit next to John on the couch and listen to him... an unlikely thing if left completely to chance. Sometimes I wish I were a little bit autistic. Then I would be rock
certain that on January 14th, 2008 I held John like I would never let him go.
I could know that in the thirty third scene of our marriage I was lost
and John found me.
It would be like opening the refrigerator and finding that some kitchen angel has replaced the guac.
Photo by Jenny Stein
www.caringformarriage.org
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