Something unusual happened today.
We’ve been married 36 years. That’s a long time. We are getting older. We’ve spent lots of time together. It’s easy to get used to things, to get used to each other.
Ron comes home for lunch a couple of times each week. I don’t know when he’s coming or what days he has meetings during the lunch hour so won’t come home. Often when he does eat here, I’ve already eaten or am gone when he gets home. It’s not like we plan a lunch date or anything. I don’t fix lunch for him; he eats leftovers or makes a salad. It’s not exciting, and he often uses that time to just chill. It’s time when he’s not on the phone and no one is demanding his attention.
Today I was out running errands and needed to ask him a question. I called but got his office voice mail; he was not in his office. As I pulled up the driveway a while later, I realized it was lunch time. “Ooooh! Maybe he’s home!” I thought.
I opened the garage door and quickly saw the garage was empty. I felt horribly disappointed that his car was not parked in his spot. My husband was not inside, sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch.
After 36 years. I was disappointed my husband wasn’t home doing something as mundane as eating lunch.
Marriage is hard work. It just is. To stay married and be happily married after 36 doesn’t happen without effort.
Today I got excited that my husband might be home because I have chosen over and over and over to love him. I have consistently made the choice not to think about what other options are out there. He is mine. I am his. For better or worse.
And I look forward to next time I come home to find his car in the garage at lunchtime.