The Best Kind of Love

I have a friend who is falling in love. She honestly claims the sky is bluer. Mozart moves her to tears. She has lost 15 pounds and looks like a cover girl.

“I’m young again!” she shouts exuberantly.

As my friend raves on about her new love, I’ve taken a good look at my old one. My husband of almost 20 years, Scott, has gained 15 pounds. Once a marathon runner, he now runs only down hospital halls. His hairline is receding and his body shows the signs of long working hours and too many candy bars. Yet he can still give me a certain look across a restaurant table and I want to ask for the check and head home.

When my friend asked me “What will make this love last?” I ran through all the obvious reasons: commitment, shared interests, unselfishness, physical attraction, communication. Yet there’s more. We still have fun. Spontaneous good times. Yesterday, after slipping the rubber band off the rolled up newspaper, Scott flipped it playfully at me: this led to an all-out war. Last Saturday at the grocery, we split the list and raced each other to see who could make it to the checkout first. Even washing dishes can be a blast. We enjoy simply being together.

And there are surprises. One time I came home to find a note on the front door that led me to another note, then another, until I reached the walk-in closet. I opened the door to find Scott holding a “pot of gold” (my cooking kettle) and the “treasure” of a gift package. Sometimes I leave him notes on the mirror and little presents under his pillow.

There is understanding. I understand why he must play basketball with the guys. And he understands why, once a year, I must get away from the house, the kids - and even him - to meet my sisters for a few days of nonstop talking and laughing.

There is sharing. Not only do we share household worries and parental burdens - we also share ideas. Scott came home from a convention last month and presented me with a thick historical novel. Though he prefers thrillers and science fiction, he had read the novel on the plane. He touched my heart when he explained it was because he wanted to be able to exchange ideas about the book after I’d read it.

There is forgiveness. When I’m embarrasssingly loud and crazy at parties, Scott forgives me. When he confessed losing some of our savings in the stock market, I gave him a hug and said, “It’s okay. It’s only money.”

There is sensitivity. Last week he walked through the door with that look that tells me it’s been a tough day. After he spent some time with the kids, I asked him what happened. He told me about a 60-year-old woman who’d had a stroke. He wept as he recalled the woman’s husband standing beside her bed, caressing her hand. How was he going to tell this husband of 40 years that his wife would probably never recover? I shed a few tears myself. Because of the medical crisis. Because there were still people who have been married 40 years. Because my husband is still moved and concerned after years of hospital rooms and dying patients.

There is faith. Last Tuesday a friend came over and confessed her fear that her husband is losing his courageous battle with cancer. On Wednesday I went to lunch with a friend who is struggling to reshape her life after divorce. On Thursday a neighbor called to talk about the frightening effects of Alzheimer’s disease on her father-in-law’s personality. On Friday a childhood friend called long-distance to tell me her father had died. I hung up the phone and thought, this is too much heartache for one week. Through my tears, as I went out to run some errands, I noticed the boisterous orange blossoms of the gladiolus outside my window. I heard the delighted laughter of my son and his friend as they played. I caught sight of a wedding party emerging from a neighbor’s house. The bride, dressed in satin and lace, tossed her bouquet to her cheering friends. That night, I told my husband about these events. We helped each other acknowledge the cycles of life and that the joys counter the sorrows. It was enough to keep us going.

Finally, there is knowing. I know Scott will throw his laundry just shy of the hamper every night; he’ll be late to most appointments and eat the last chocolate in the box. He knows that I sleep with a pillow over my head; I’ll lock us out of the house at a regular basis, and I will also eat the last chocolate.

I guess our love lasts because it is comfortable. No, the sky is not bluer: it’s just a familiar hue. We don’t feel particularly young: we’ve experienced too much that has contributed to our growth and wisdom, taking its toll on our bodies, and created our memories.

I hope we’ve got what it takes to make our love last. As a bride, I had Scott’s wedding band engraved with Robert Browning’s line “Grow old along with me!” We’re following those instructions.

“If anything is real, the heart will make it plain.”

我的一位朋友正在热恋。她坦称天空比以前更蓝了，莫扎特的音乐让她落泪。她体重降了十五磅，看上去就像一个封面女郎。

“我又年轻啦!”她激动地大喊。

当我的朋友幸福地大谈特谈她的新欢时，我对我的旧爱细细审视了一遍。和我共度了将近二十年的丈夫斯科特体重增了十五磅。从前的马拉松运动员，如今只能在医院的大厅里跑来跑去的。他前额的头发越来越少，从体型能看出他长时间工作并且糖块吃得太多。但他仍能隔着餐馆的桌子，用眼神向我发出某种暗示，然后我会立即结账，一起回家。

当朋友问我“是什么让我们的爱情持续”时，我的脑海里立刻浮现出所有那些显而易见的答案：承诺、共同爱好、无私奉献、身体吸引、沟通交，还有很多。我们仍然拥有乐趣，那些随意而来的美好时光。昨天，解开捆报纸的橡皮筋后，斯科特开玩笑地弹了我一下，随即引发了一场全面的“战争”。上周六在杂货店，我们分开购物，比赛谁先买好东西到结账处。甚至洗碗也能大闹一下。我们只是享受简单的共处。

另外还有惊喜。一天我回到家，看到前门上贴着一张便条，它把我引向另一张便条，然后是另一张，一直把我引到家里可进入的壁橱。我打开壁橱门，发现斯科特站在里面，一手拿着“金壶”(我的蒸煮锅)，一手拿着一包包装精美的“宝物”。我有时也在镜子上给他留便条，或把小礼物放在他的枕头下。

还有理解。我理解他为什么一定要和伙伴们打篮球。他也理解我为什么每年都要找个机会离开家和孩子们(甚至他)几天，同我的姐妹们没完没了地聊啊笑啊。

还有分享。我们不但分享家务琐事和为人父母的责任，还有思想交流。斯科特上月去开会，回来后他送给我一本厚厚的历史小说。虽然他更喜欢恐怖及科幻小说，他还是在飞机上将这本小说读完。当他解释说是因为想在我读完后能与我交换心得时，我深受感动。

还有宽恕。当我在聚会上让人尴尬地喊叫疯狂时，他原谅了我。当他承认在股市赔进去我们的一些积蓄时，我拥抱着他说：“没关系，不过是些钱罢了。”

还有敏感。上个星期当他回来的时候，脸上的神情让我感觉他这天过得很不好。他与孩子们玩了一会儿，之后我问他发生了什么事。他给我讲述了一个六十岁老太太的事情。这个老太太得了中风。回忆起老太太的丈夫站在她床边、抚摸着她的手的情形，他情不自禁地流下了眼泪。他怎忍心告诉这个与她相伴四十年的丈夫他的妻子可能永远不会康复啊!我也不禁落泪。因为那位老太太不治的病情，因为仍有四十年的夫妻，因为经过数年的病房工作，整天面对垂死的病人，我的丈夫仍会感动，仍存怜悯。

还有信仰。上周二，一个朋友到家里来，向我倾诉她的丈夫正在流失和癌症斗争的勇气。周三，我和一个朋友一起午餐――她正烦恼着在离婚之后如何重新梳理自己的生活。周四，一个邻居告诉我老年痴呆症在她岳父身上有着多么可怕的影响。周五，一个儿时的朋友打长途电话告诉我她的父亲去世了。在我挂了电话之后，想：这个星期真是一个伤心的星期。哭过之后，我有事要出去一下。我注意到鲜艳夺目的橙色剑兰正在我的窗外开放着。我听到我的孩子和他们的朋友一起玩耍的嬉戏声。我看到邻居家正好在举行着婚礼。新娘穿着绸缎和蕾丝的礼服，将花束抛向她欢呼的朋友。那晚，我告诉我的丈夫发生的这些事情。

最后，还有相互了解。我知道斯科特会把衣服扔得到处都是，然后晚上又面对满地的东西脸红;约会时他总是迟到，还会把盒子里最后一块巧克力吃掉。他也知道我总是喜欢在头上放着枕头睡觉;把我们锁在屋外是我的家常便饭，还有我也会把盒子里最后一块巧克力吃掉。

我觉得我们的爱之所以能延续是因为它很温馨。当然，我的天空并没有变得更蓝：它还是我熟悉的色彩。我们也不特别地感到年轻：我们经历得太多了。这让我们成熟，带来智慧，也在我们的身体上刻下印记，让我们切身感受到痛苦，也创造了我们共同的回忆。

但愿我们都知道是什么让我们的爱保持下来的。在我还是新娘的时候，斯科特给我的结婚戒指上面刻着罗伯特•勃朗宁的名言：“让我们一起变老吧!”我们一直遵循着这些指导。

“如果任何事情都是真的，心里都会明白的。”