Month: November 2022

The house feels empty without my daughter and her boyfriend here. They left yesterday after visiting for an entire week over the Thanksgiving holiday. I take it as a testament of our love and comfort level and tolerance for one another that we were able to enjoy each other’s company so thoroughly without once having had a major blow-up or experiencing irritability. Sure, there was the occasional tetchiness when playing a word game and no one followed the “no talking” rule, or partners misread one another and got clues wrong, but other than that, I didn’t hear a word of complaint and neither did I utter any. Nor did my husband. And this boyfriend. What a gift. For him to spend an entire week with us, to agree to that in that first place, and for me and my husband to luxuriate in their presence. Wow.

So here it is the day after they have left. I’m sitting on the front porch in the sunshine with a mountain breeze filling my freshly Covid-vacated lungs. I hacked and coughed while my daughter and her mate were here. I’d tested negative before they arrived, and I’m sure it was a nuisance hearing me coughing. But I didn’t hear one grumble about it, nor about boredom, displeasure or discomfort.

We had football and soccer games on T.V. all week and that was fine by me. While the three of them took a mountain hike, because of a bum foot I stayed home and talked for over an hour with a friend from Chicago. I slept in my own bed with my husband for the first time in two weeks (we had been sleeping separately while I tested positive) and I slept well, having rediscovered earplugs and an eye mask. Everyone slept well. And ate well. My cooking, which all highly praised, my daughter and even her beau asking me for my recipes, was my expression of love.

So, the adage about fish and visitors smelling after three days was irrelevant all because of the replacement slogan “Live and let live.” Even when I walked in on my husband clipping his eyebrows in the bathroom mirror because the bathroom I use for my own nighttime toilette was occupied, I didn’t say a word. He knows I prefer he leave them alone, but I respect his business, which is none of mine. The same with my daughter and her beloved. They have a way of relating to one another that I find mildly disconcerting, but I said nothing. None of my business. And they kept their distaste for any of my habits to themselves if they had any. I’m sure they did. Who wouldn’t?

The absence of the richness of my daughter’s company leaves me feeling bereft as I always am after one of our children visits. But I have my life to live and my husband to love, and I cherish the period of withdrawal. I hate the ache, but I’m glad I have one.

"Live and let live expresses the idea that all should be able to live their lives in the manner they want to, regardless of what other[s] may think of them."-- Ali hadi Ghawl, University of Al-Qadisiyah

So it’s come to this. I cannot sleep with my husband anymore. It’s not that I don’t love him—or that he’s sick or I’m sick. It’s just that I can no longer sleep with another person in the bed, or perhaps even in the room.

Ever since having had Covid when I slept in my meditation/guest room for two weeks, I’ve had trouble sleeping in our marriage bed. During those two weeks I could cough or stretch out with impunity and not worry about waking him. We’d just bought a new queen-sized mattress for the guest room to replace the old full-sized one that was no fun for couples. When I got Covid I broke in the new mattress by staying in bed forty-eight hours and didn’t stray far from it when I did get up. After the first few nights of coughing and hacking, I slept well for ten consecutive nights in the still quiet of that space.

But now real guests are coming so I’ve fumigated and vacated the room. Last night was my first night back in bed with my beloved husband. He read in his study so as not to disturb me in case I turned out the light before he did. But I heard the door open, felt the floor shake with each footfall as he padded across the room in the semi-dark to his side of the bed. The mattress sagged and I fell inward, needing to brace myself as his weight shifted the dynamics of my position so I had to adjust how I was anchored to the bed. I listened to every rustle, every breath, every brief cough. I thought of my quiet, still bed in the guest room made up with clean sheets and pillowcases and knew I had no choice but to stick it out and hope sleep would come.

It did not.

First I got up to look for ear plugs in the hallway linen closet and not finding any, rummaged in the outside flap of my suitcase and found two old ones which I rolled up and stuck into my ears.  But then the light on the humidifier was so bright I got up again and covered the piercing blue digital readout with a rag. Lying in bed, twitching and coughing myself, I figured it was hopeless.

I remember being puzzled as a little girl spending the night at my grandmother’s house why she slept in a separate bedroom from my grandfather. “He twitches too much. I start in bed with him to warm up his feet until he falls asleep and then I go to your Uncle Tom’s old bedroom.”

Perhaps I’ve become like my grandmother. Maybe I’ll start in bed with Bill and then slip out of bed into the guest room every night. And when guests are here, I’ll make do and take naps during the day. It sounds like an amicable solution. I’ll have to ask Bill what he thinks about it.

Bill and I make plans for other things that never happen at night anyway.

I must admit I love being adored and admired. Who doesn’t? Who doesn’t love accolades, approval, attention and admiration? Let’s face it – we all do.

But shouldn’t God’s love, admiration and approval be enough? She adores us and will never abandon us.

But Her love is rarely enough for most of us.

Why? Why are our hearts voracious and greedy always wanting more approval, more attention, more satisfaction? Is it because we don’t believe She loves us? Or that we don’t love ourselves?

And why is that? Why, when we grow still and look inward are we not enough for ourselves? Why do we think we need the entire population of this planet to love us and say we are a spectacular individual? Because isn’t that what our greediness wants? To have every living person’s approval? When are we ever enough?

Always. Don’t listen to self-doubt. You are exquisite. And enough. If you don’t believe it, pretend you do, just for this moment.

So please, stop worrying and enjoy your day. Or at least, and maybe even at most, this moment. Pause. Look within your exquisite, lovely Self, and enjoy this moment. This.

Ahhhhhh. Yes. That’s it. Lovely.

"You can't comprehend the grand scheme, so don't go there. Stay where you belong--clearly focused on the present and spiritual journey that is your life."

Defy Gravity by Caroline Myss, p. 140