The Only Thing That Matters

Life hands us its lessons when we least expect them. Micheal and I had hit a rough patch, and I was lying face down on our bed, miserable because of the anger that separated us. Then I remembered an affirmation I’d typed in the notes app on my phone right before we’d decided to move to Mexico.  

I’d been having serious doubts about the whole idea, and to keep my courage up and fears at bay, I wrote down some words of encouragement to myself. I glanced at them every once in a while when I felt a bit like the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz or Eeyore of Winnie the Pooh.

  I squirreled away phrases like “Can’t lives on won’t street” and country singer Kasey Musgrave’s favorite mantra, “There’s always a reward in choosing to be the most vulnerable.” But the phrase that popped into my head on that October afternoon was, “Love is the only thing that matters.”  

As I mentally fingered the words, I was comforted. It was as if they not only put our relationship but my life into perspective. A truism possessed of magical powers, it provided  solace when the stresses of learning the ways of a different country threatened to fall down around my ears.

After Mike died, the phrase was turned on its head. It instantly and irrevocably distilled the meaning and value of our twenty-two years together into seven tiny words. Love was the only thing that mattered; I told myself over and over as I ordered flowers for his memorial service, thumbed through a thousand memories, and smiled in response to the softly murmured condolences of friends and family.

I thought the amount of money we had in the bank and whether or not he managed to straighten up his office before the doorbell announced company were things that mattered while Michael was alive. Now that he’s gone, I realize that these were nothing compared to the joy of having him back, even for a minute.

Don’t get me wrong; I know there are expectations in any healthy relationship. Some are met, and some aren’t. I’m just saying that love is the vital thing. It’s the glue that holds a relationship together in the face of the everyday adversities life tosses in our direction.

So, when Marty and I are having another disagreement over the number of throw pillows making themselves comfortable in our living room or whether or not I serve a starch with every meal, somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember that despite the feelings I have about these things in the moment, the love we have for each other is truly the only thing that counts.