Last week, I sat down on Monday and wrote a post in a state of overwhelm after a good, but crazy, few days. The busy weekend had merged into a disjointed beginning to the week.
This past weekend was quieter and more reflective, and I wanted to save the good parts for posterity.
The weekend started with a work shift Friday night. The out-going nurse gave me a great report – informative and unapologetic, just the way I like it. Over the course of my shift, I had unexpectedly meaningful conversations with a patient and a doctor, and a pretty deep phone conversation with a patient’s significant other.
I came home feeling grateful for the opportunity to connect with other human beings about the meaning of life and what comes after.
I slept like a rock that Saturday when I got home, until 6 p.m. It was the day before my birthday. When I woke up, I came downstairs, still in a bit of a fog. The kitchen was a hive of activity as my family worked to make my birthday dinner.
When we moved to Albany at the beginning of our marriage, I didn’t want to volunteer how long the Chaplain and I had been married. I had graduated from college with a degree in English and a little boy; if I didn’t tell people we met that we’d just gotten married a year ago, they could think the Chaplain was One’s biological dad.
I was crushed by shame, and I thought I needed to do damage control on the genesis of our little family.
Today, we’re celebrating twelve years of marriage, and I’m proud of that number. Acting out a certain story, an “acceptable” one, doesn’t seem that important anymore.
The Chaplain and I finally started earning our marriage chops this year. We had to work for it. It was in turns terrifying and wonderful. I shudder to think what our next challenge might look like in a partnership where we traditionally do things big.
This morning, I’m feeling grateful that we made it. Before, we would never have used the term “we made it,” about our relationship. It was saved for trivial stuff like getting to somewhere on time.
But we did make it. And I’m seeing things differently, communicating differently, loving and trusting differently. It’s a good thing. And I’m interested to see what Year Thirteen has to offer.
That stack of books is all the reading I’ve been doing about sex, marriage, and relationships. Some of the titles I’ve already mentioned in other posts. I could wait until I got through the rest of the pile to write about them, but I wanted to feature my top two books from the pile, one on marriage, one on sex.
Above, one of the photos from our Immigration Interview Photo Album.
When the Chaplain and I got married, we’d known each other for about 60 days. He had lived in the U.S. for a number of years as a college student. Since he was supposed to be leaving for seminary to become a Catholic priest at the end of the summer we met, he was here on a student visa.
When he dropped out of that program to marry me, he lost his status as a student. When we were deciding whether or not to get married, we knew if we didn’t get married, he’d have to go back to Tobago. And he already had bought the ticket to go back home.
My wise Grandma reflected when she heard that we were eloping that she had always said you should know someone through every season before tying the knot. She figured since it’s always summer in Tobago (with temperatures in the mid 80’s year-round, a rainy season and a dry season, I think in this case North-easterners can afford to generalize a little) and we met in the summertime, that we had covered our bases. I have always been grateful for her gracious perspective.
I remember watching Green Card, the 1990 rom com, with my family around that time with my new husband, and it was heh heh funny, not haha funny.
It was supposed to be a relaxing night of hanging out with the Chaplain. We’ve kept up with our evening walks. But after doing our four-mile route, I wasn’t settling down. We watched a show together. We ate ice cream. It got late.
We picked up our books, and began to read a few pages. I was still restless.
Then I read something in my book that caught my attention.
