This weekend, I let my husband book a 3-night stay away from home without asking him how much it cost.
It’s the weekend I’m reclining on the couch in the middle of the afternoon reading while the baby quail peck around in the grass outside and the sun is spectacular against the sandstone mountains outside the window of the rented condo.
This is the weekend he made ME breakfast.
While he napped, I snuck away to buy him new swim goggles since he forgot his.
It’s the weekend I woke up with the sun and started writing my next book, while he slept in.
Tonight, I’ve made reservations at a fancy fondue and steak house and will wear a dress my husband has never seen before. The butterflies have already started just thinking about sitting across the table from him and gazing into his eyes.
This is the weekend we’ll celebrate having another Father’s Day, because exactly 6 months ago today, I was sitting with him in the ICU.
The Heart Attack
In case you are wondering what you would do if your husband were to have a heart attack, I will tell you what you might do: You will wonder if you can drive him to the hospital faster yourself. You might struggle to remember how to open your phone app to dial 911. You will be grateful for neighbors who know you well enough to walk right into the house without knocking when they see red flashing lights in the driveway (especially if they are the kind of friends who understand how to watch for ways to support you without being intrusive).
The paramedics didn’t look especially worried. Garth is only 61 after all. They told him he was having what looked like an anxiety attack, and the ambulance drove off slowly with me following behind in the car. I could see him through the back window underneath the plaid Sherpa Christmas blanket I’d grabbed from the couch to wrap him up in. Before the ambulance pulled out of the driveway, I gave each of my neighbors a quick hug. I didn’t know how much their support would matter for the next 72 hours.
Two miles into our trip to the hospital, the lights and sirens went on, the ambulance increased speed, and I was left waiting in my car at the next red light, wondering whether I would ever see him alive again.
If you are very, very lucky, that experience will change everything. You’ll get a second chance to prioritize.
The Immense Blessing of Second Chances and Do-Overs
We have had six months with a lot of do-overs, a few more apologies than usual, and some long discussions about creeping resentments of the past. We are better at pausing before speaking. We are learning to ask questions instead of giving advice. We are learning just how much we have been living below our privileges. We hungrily swallow up smatterings of opportunity we overlooked before. We try not to leave any joy on the table for what remains of our lifetime together.
We are casting away what is unnecessary: Old computer cables. Clothing we thought we would fit into again someday. Seed oils and sugar. Misunderstandings and worry.
We are creating more space for what is necessary: Trips with the grandkids. The family photos. Long-neglected friendships. Arugula and Swiss Chard and a double row of spinach in the garden boxes. Snapdragons. The piano he has always wanted. And weekend retreats like this one!
He bought me a massage table. I bought him hammock chairs. We scheduled a trip to Europe with friends. He gifted me a new necklace and ordered new garage door springs. He learned how to grill salmon. I dug his music-arranging class notes from the 1980s out of the basement file cabinet so he can begin again.
He made glow-in-the-dark slime with the grandkids. I let him read more of the bedtime stories when they visit. We’ve made more breakfast appointments with our adult children. We talk about how much of our time to give to help with childcare and whether cash for basement refinishing and estate planning is better gifted now than after we are dead.
We have always been a good team. We have been an even better team during the last six months. We like knowing we have time to keep playing the game for a few more innings. I won’t count it as “One More Father’s Day.” Our empty nest means it’s time to give him priority. I had no idea how much we both needed me to make space for that in my busy schedule.
This morning, I booked a hotel for our NEXT weekend retreat together as his Father’s Day gift. He won’t ask me how much it will cost. I’m sitting on the back deck listening to the birds singing and watching the sun come over the mountain. The time he needs for extra rest as his body heals is time I can savor for writing—which is good for my heart. Our hearts are a little bit healthier every day.
