In our almost 19 years of marriage, I can count the number of vicious fights my husband and I have had on one hand. We rarely argue, though we do disagree over a key number of issues. I could cite a million different reasons - from astrology to personality - why we are compatible, but it's really quite simple: we are expert communicators. (Okay, "expert" may be too strong a term. "Really, really good" is more like it.)
Growing up, my parents did not talk to each other. Dad yelled to get his point across and Mom spit acid about him to us girls behind his back. Only twice did my parents ever sit down at the table and talk rationally about a family problem: when Mom accumulated a tremendous credit card debt and when my sister found herself pregnant at 16.
Then and now, I am a witness to the importance of talking to your spouse. Dad has his first chemo treatment early tomorrow morning. I will be the one dropping him off. I am spending the night Mom and Dad's tonight. Josh wanted to tag along, planning to go visit his former teacher who works at Providence. Since I did not plan to make another stop before dropping off Dad, he insisted upon spending the night as well. For any other family, this wouldn't be a problem - my parents still live in our four bedroom family home - except for the fact my parents are hoarders and there is literally no room in any of the extra bedrooms for anyone to sleep. The large family room downstairs could be utilized if half the room hadn't flooded due to a leak in the baseboard heating. It reeks of mildew (and worse). Blythe refused to let Josh sleep over if he had to sleep in the family room.
I extended a compromise - what if we asked Mom and Dad if Josh could sleep upstairs on the living room futon? Yes, Blythe decided, that would be adequate. I called Mom. She said it would be fine, not a problem. Josh and I came over. Everything seemed just fine.
Then, of course, it was time to go to bed. Josh got ready to sleep upstairs. Dad freaked out, concerned over his boxes and boxes of stamps surrounding the futon. He became upset ("she never tells me anything!" a common rallying cry) until I explained the situation. Blythe's concern. The phone call to Mom. Obviously, Mom had not checked in with Dad. The two of them were not on the same page about suitable locations for Josh to sleep. I told Josh he could have my space. In frustration, Dad relinquished his half of the bed to Josh and is now (hopefully) resting comfortably on the futon.
I'm (more than) a little annoyed over the situation. First, it's ridiculous my parents live in such a large house and can't have one open room for company. The room I'm staying in tonight was practically empty ten years ago - now there's so much stuff in it, the guest bed barely unfolds.
But second, much of this problem stems from the two of them being so uncommunicative. They can't find a healthy way to discuss their problems - much less what's bothering them! - in a productive way. It drives me absolutely batty but there's nothing I can do about it. Anything I have to say about their relationship won't be acknowledged because they've got other, more pressing, issues at the moment. And, yes, it's true. They do. I will cut them some slack there.
Every. Single. Day. I am grateful for my husband. We may have married young. Many members of our family and friends didn't think we were going to make it. But we did - we have - because our marriage was built with a solid foundation of communication.
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