A Comfortable Silence

Eric and I were recently able to escape our real life for a quick getaway to Toronto.  I absolutely love these mini-vacations away from the house and our kids.  And no matter how much we may not be able to stand each other when we leave; we always reconnect quickly and remember why we got married in the first place. Before we left, we worked like mad to clean the house, wash the sheets and leave it all in relatively good condition for our return. We packed up three overnight bags for the kids (plus a thousand accessories) and shuffled them off to three different locations. I barely recall what it meant to only be responsible for myself. Now even the dogs need a babysitter and some sort of coordinated effort.

Like everyone I know who is in the business of raising a young family, we are busy. Crazy busy.  Sometimes we feel stranded in a perpetual state of demand: from our kids, our jobs and our domestic responsibilities. So when I get the opportunity to step outside of it all and breathe in the joy of time away, I take it without hesitation. And I generally don’t feel guilty about it.  I am no martyr of motherhood. I need me time. I love me time. I need time with just my husband. I love time with just him.

We had a nice drive in, each with our favourite drink; I like tea and he prefers coffee. We spent the time chatting, mildly arguing and sitting in comfortable silence. After more than thirteen years together it’s all very normal and, I suppose, just the way we like it. Lunch was the first thing on our agenda. We wondered around Queen St. and in very typical fashion made the act of finding a restaurant an extremely complicated event. I insisted we talk about our choices and decide together and he kept saying he didn’t care. We walked in and out of the same places several times before I felt I could make a decision. We ordered – breakfast for me and lunch for him. 

For almost two hours we sat with our lunch. We read the paper, checked our phones, and talked briefly about articles we were reading. It occurred to me that not so long ago I had watched couples like us (usually they were further on in years, much further) and felt sorry for them. How sad that out for lunch together they couldn’t find anything to talk about and instead chose to read the paper, occasionally exchanging sections; barely looking up while the sections crossed the table.  I simply misunderstood.

What is not seen in the quiet moments when a couple sits across from one another in silence are all the threads that tie them together. And while the affection between us may be far more subtle than when we first met, it is far deeper. We sat together, connected as a couple but also taking space for ourselves. It is in these quiet moments together that the pieces of our relationship (which sometimes seems as though they are simply floating all around us) come together to make the complicated yet perfect puzzle that is simply us.

I am already planning our next escape.