Why does it matter at all?
I’m on my second marriage, so this matters. We’ve been married ten years, so given the opportunity of second winds at a later stage in life — post-child-rearing, post their undergrad education, this matters. Every day is a gift. Each moment spent together is a blessing. So I was looking forward to our significant 10th,grateful that we’re alive and healthy to see this day.
We had just returned from a four-week trip overseas across the world, spent entirely with each other, and were suffering the pangs of jetlag. But, of course, it gets worse as we grow older. Still, if there’s any consolation for all those like myself — those who want to create during those solitary early hours of the day from 3 a.m., having full 6–8 hours schedule before our little world begins to wake up to start the day, this period lasts two weeks — enough time to rewrite your manuscript or finish your painting. So that’s what I did, except I wasn’t feeling all that well. However, it wasn’t the case with my husband, who chose to whine moan about the adjustment rather than do something during those early hours.
I came back exhausted, had a cold and cough, and felt feverish. So for two whole days, I lay in bed doing nothing. I just lay there waiting for all of this to be over.
The day of our 10th arrived two days after we came back home after our long trip. I’d asked for a ring a long time for our special anniversary e ago to celebrate this momentous occasion. I wanted to go out for dinner. I wanted flowers and a card. I wasn’t serious about the ring, so I thought my desires were pretty simple and easy to fulfill. I liked the feeling of fresh and new and romantic, despite, or maybe because, I felt so low, my body feeling the way it did. “ Dinner tonight?” I asked. “ Let’s do it,” he said. He wished me, hugged me, and was on his way out.
( A word of advice: Better to spell things out for men because it makes their lives and ours a lot easier than playing the guessing game.)
“Please get me a thermometer; I asked before he left. “I can’t find the one we have. And pick up my meds at the pharmacy.”
“ Sure,” he said. He had his usual day with phone calls and tennis and then lunched and ran errands with his daughter. He returned around four in the evening, feeling jetlagged, and slept, saying, “ Wake me up at six. We’ll go out for dinner; I know you prefer eating early.” He was completely in tune with my needs. I eat between six and seven, no later than seven each day, so I was grateful. I felt much better, having rested for two whole days. Cough lingered, but that would take 3–5 weeks to subside, so that wasn’t an issue.
My story begins here. Jetlag sleep is something else altogether. The sleep quality is quite different, like a drugged state, and waking up is difficult. The mind wants to wake up, but the body does not cooperate. Everything feels heavy and disconnected, the weight of the mind and body weighing like a ton of bricks. I’ve been through it, and it’s not fun to wake up.
But it was our 10th, and I would wake him up. So I tried waking him gently at 6:30 p.m. giving him half an hour extra time, then at 7:00 p.m., graciously providing him that whole extra hour.
Shortly after, my brother came with a bouquet and a lovely card for us, so I tried to wake up my husband again, letting him know my brother is visiting. He moaned and said he’ll be with us in a minute. My brother hung out for a bit. We talked about our trip. I apologized but wasn’t so bothered that my husband was asleep, and neither was he. Afterall, everyone knew that kind of jetlagged sleep. Finally, my brother left. That was when I felt my body responding to my thoughts differently.
It was 7:45 p.m. I went into the bedroom, this time banging doors loudly. I tried to wake my husband again, but again just the moans. By 8 p.m., I couldn’t wait to eat, so I grabbed some leftovers and had my dinner alone. By then, I was tired of trying. I turned on the TV and watched some thing— alone. My husband came to join me at 8:15 p.m. or so. “ I finished eating. You can help yourself, “I said. “It’s too late to go out for dinner.” He seemed pretty grateful, though he said, “ are you sure” in a voice that said, I’m so drunk. Would you trust me to drive? He crashed again on our day bed in the family room, looking like he’d guzzled a bottle of whiskey.
I let him lay there. I then went to our bedroom and cried secretly. I was alone and felt lonely. I was angry, upset, and very hurt. Then, finally, my husband came in later and apologized. “Sorry, This damn jetlag.”
“You couldn’t get me a bloody card? Flowers?” I shouted. “You know you’re jetlagged, so if you’d planned something for us, we could’ve had lunch or breakfast together? Forget that. You couldn’t get me a thermometer or my meds. Why is it never about me? Why do I come last at the bottom of your totem pole.? I broke down with my face in my hands. And when he tried to touch me, I revolted. “I have a card, but I’m not giving it to you!”
I turned around and tried to sleep. My blood was boiling, and I had lost my equilibrium. I wanted the day to be special, and it was anything but. I had defied my own rule of not going to bed angry. I wanted something simple, just to have a meal together, but none of that happened. I was hurt because I felt I didn’t matter, that we didn’t matter.
The next day, I went to the jewelry store and bought myself a ring, one I had been eyeing for a while, nothing expensive, nothing grand, just something simple I could wear every day. Then, I went to lunch by myself, took a long walk on the coastal trail by the ocean, and bought him a card and some chocolate. I was celebrating my life the way I chose to, independently of what he did or didn’t do for me. I felt gratitude for the ten years we had been together, who knows if we’ll have a another, God forbid.
When I got back home that evening, I saw my meds, a thermometer, flowers, and a card waiting for me by my bedside. I wore my new ring, gave him the card and his favorite chocolates. We went out for dinner to a place we’ve both always wanted to go to, up in San Francisco overlooking the water. It was a perfect 10th anniversary, albeit a day later.
