May 11, 2013 § 4 Comments
‘I came back from the funeral and crawled around the apartment, crying hard, searching for my wife’s hair.
For two months got them from the drain, from the vacuum cleaner, under the refrigerator, and off the clothes in the closet.
But after other Japanese women came, there was no way to be sure which were hers, and i stopped.
A year later, repotting Michiko’s avocado, i find a long black hair tangled in the dirt.’
Marriage is what happens ‘between the memorable’. We often look back on our marriages years later, perhaps after one spouse has died, and all we can recall are “the vacations, and emergencies”- the high
points and low points. The rest of it blends into a blurry sort of daily sameness. But it is that very blurred sameness, that comprises marriage. Marriage ‘is’ those two thousand indistinguishable conversations, chatted over two thousand indistinguishable breakfasts, where intimacy turns like a slow wheel. How do you measure the worth of becoming that familiar to somebody- so utterly well known and so thoroughly ever-present that you become an almost invisible necessity, like air?
Elizabeth Gilbert, Committed.