Marriage: Handle With CareChikamu

My boots sank into the slush covering the dirt road. My four-month-old nestled against me, bundled between my overalls and a wool sweater that made me feel like a native to the cold. 

But it wasn’t cold; it was a mild 43 degrees. I wore no Cuddl Duds, no gloves, no hat. 

Three months ago, when we moved during Wisconsin’s harshest November since 1898, I would have rejoiced to have a respite like this. 

And yet, over the past month since my husband’s brain surgery, I had barely noticed the weather. Instead, I had focused on surviving. Putting one foot in front of the other. Counting my blessings, though that rote phrase made me want to grit my teeth. 

The morning after Randy’s horrific pincushion spinal tap, which the neurosurgeon performed to check for infection, I said to my husband’s prone form, “There has to be a break in the clouds. It has to get better than this.”

And it did.

I could have wept while walking those slush-covered dirt roads because—one month after I thought I might lose my husband—he was not only alive, but well.

His incision was healing; his hair growing back; his energy and orneriness simultaneously returning, so that he told me, “I’m really going to tear it up,” to see the alarm on my face.

I was not widowed at twenty-eight. I still had someone who could help me run our solar-powered farm, replete with its temperamental windmill and quirks. 

More importantly, my daughters still had a father, and I was still a wife. 

I once took these factors for granted because I knew my husband would never leave; I never considered he could be taken from me.

Then, life and death faced off, and suddenly time was precious. Everything was precious. 

I was aware, though, of human nature and that, with our return to normality, we would soon return to our more “efficient” usage of time. 

I viewed this frailty firsthand, as my toddler daughter stood in front of the sink, splashing in the bubbles after washing her hands.

“I don’t have time for this,” I snapped. 

And then I stopped, stared at my startled reflection in the mirror, and reminded myself that I did have time for this. 

I had all the time in the world. 

Conversation Starter: How do you find the balance between being present and being productive? Have you ever experienced a trial that realigned your priorities as a couple? How did that experience change your perspective on time?

Getting Started: Write down a list of your priorities—from greatest to least. The next day, chart how much time you give to those priorities. Does the time you give match your priority list?