Of Mice and Men

Today is our fourth anniversary.  When this posts, we will be unplugged in Austin, though Billy might see it on his phone.  Or he might not see it until we get back.  But what I would like to say publicly to him on this anniversary is: 

Billy, thanks for being my gardener.

At some point early in our life together, we heard somewhere that in every relationship, one person acts as the gardener and one person acts as the flower that the gardener tends.  We used to make jokes about how I was the gardener and Billy was the flower.  Somewhere along the way, those roles seem to have reversed so significantly that I really can't remember why I ever thought I was doing the tending and he was doing the growing.  Because I manage the finances?  Because I did more of the chores when I was off during the summer?  I can't think of any other reasons.

One of the things that has served as the greatest comforts to me since losing Dad is that Dad knew I was going to be well tended after he was gone.  When I was home during his final weeks, we had several conversations which have since made it clear to me that he had a very good idea of how things would play out after his death.  He was always very intuitive, but-- and this is the case with most people in our family-- he wouldn't openly talk about his attitudes or opinions about specific issues unless you got him in a one-on-one conversation and you pressed him with questions.  Then he was happy to talk about things, though he rarely brought them up.  Thankfully for me, with nothing else to do but sit in his bed and talk, we got to have several such conversations before he passed away.  (It's also part of the reason why I miss talking to him so much on the phone.  Being a distance daughter meant I missed out on a lot of time spent with Dad, but it also meant that I regularly got to engage in the kind of conversations I rarely had with him when we were in the same geographic location.)

In one of these conversations, Dad told me that he knows "things like this," meaning his general battle with cancer but also the fairly quick way in which it was coming to an end, are difficult for people like me and him to handle because we like to plan everything out well in advance and we don't always react well when things do not go according to our plans.  So then I talked about how it felt like the universe had been trying to remind me for the past six months or so that it operates largely without respect to my plans, and we discussed how it is important to find a middle ground of continuing to do my best to plan for things while also learning to adjust well when things do not go according to plan.  And then Dad said something to me that I hope I will never forget, either as a moment or as a guiding principle.  He said, "Just keep planning on loving Billy, and everything will work out."

There have been days since January 12 where thinking about that sentence is the only thing that has enabled me to get out of bed and start my day.  Every day since January 12, having Billy as my gardener has been the main thing that has kept me functioning and moving forward.  People ask me if I think Billy will "be able to handle" watching me give birth, and I think this is a pretty standard question.  I don't think my dad would have asked it, though.  I regret that Billy, Dad, and I didn't get to spend more time together, but it is a great comfort to me to know that we spent enough time together for Dad to realize what Billy means to me, what Billy has been able to do for me so far, and what Billy will continue to learn to do for me in the future. 

To answer the question: Yes.  Billy will be able to "handle" it.  I continue to be amazed at the ability my husband has developed to intuit exactly what I need for him to do.  Billy and I celebrate four years of marriage today, but he has been watering this plant for over seven years, or just about 25% of this plant's life.  I believe so wholeheartedly in Billy's ability to give me what I need, especially after he has guided me through my dad's death and its aftermath, that I believe that even if he passes out, or throws up directly on me while I give birth, that will somehow be exactly what I need for him to do at that moment.

Billy is a planner, too.  And year 4 of our marriage did not go according to our plans.  I don't believe in much, but I do believe that so long as I keep planning on loving him, like my dad told me to, everything will be all right.

Happy Anniversary, Billy.  I love you, and marrying you was the smartest thing I've ever done. I hope that life will continue to give us opportunities to trade off as gardener and flower as we navigate our future together, and I can't wait until we have the chance to work together as gardeners for our little girl.

(Of Mice and Men is John Steinbeck's classic novel about George, Lenny, and what happens to their plans.  It draws its title from Robert Burns's line from "To a Mouse," which translates to "the best laid schemes of mice and men go often askew."  Fortunately for me, my plans have never gone quite as far askew as George's or the mouse's.  Neither of them seem to have had a Billy.)