Some nights, when I can't fall asleep—a problem that’s been happening more often lately—I force myself to stay in bed and let my mind wander through a parade of memories.
At my age, these memory parades can be long and colorful, filled with bittersweet moments, lingering what-ifs, and questions that may never have answers. It’s like playing a memory game, with a different theme each time. It’s not like counting sheep, when all sheep look alike and all one has to do is count—one sheep—two sheep—three, and then, when bored to death, sleep crawls back in, a bit shy at the beginning, kind of apologetic, and then takes vigorously over. No, these memory parades are much more complex and require me to really focus.
First, I have to pick a topic. This often depends on my mood or what happened during the day. Some nights, when I’m frustrated by our ongoing search for a new house, I think about all the houses I’ve ever lived in. My husband reassures me that even if it takes a year or two, we’ll eventually find the right one, just as we always have in the past. To that end, I remind him that this time over, time is not on our side.
Other nights, after watching a romantic show like Marriage at First Sight or The Golden Bachelor (which always reminds me to never give up on love), I start thinking about how I knew my husband was the one. My memory parade presents me with all the others who, for a brief or long period, I believed would be the right choice. I compare and contrast, examine the evidence in minute detail, and rage about memory hallows. Why can’t I remember? Their exact words, the questions asked, the tears, the sweet or repulsive physical touch. What made him the one? From a far distance of time, I look at my husband of almost fifty years; a lifetime of memories erupts like a colorful, noisy parade.
From where I stand now, after almost fifty years with my husband, the memories come alive like a vibrant, noisy parade. I look at him and know I made the right choice.
I take a deep breath, and the tension I’ve been holding onto melts away. With that comfort, I finally let sleep take over.
Good night.
