Strange comforts

There’s a little sculpture that sits on a shelf in the living room. A man and woman sitting on a bench, each looking the other way, obviously at odds, but the man is holding an umbrella over the woman. We were wandering around a furniture store years ago, and my husband saw that and made some little noise, snatched it up, and it came home with us. I’m glad it did. We don’t argue. This is a peaceful house. But we’re not close either. The distance on that bench is very much here. He likes it that way. If I sit too close, he’ll move. If I speak too long, he’ll interrupt or walk away. Any mistake means I’m stupid or incompetent. Given the choice to build me up or knock me down, he will invariably choose the latter. I’ve asked him over the years if he wanted a divorce. The answer was always no. He has been cold and unkind to a degree that I can’t reconcile how one can love and behave like that, but if I pay attention, the umbrella is always there. All these little things he takes care of because I have higher priorities or just because he can do them more easily. Cleaning the washer and dryer vents, loading the water softener, refilling the handsoap, changing the light bulbs that I would need a ladder to get to. And those things that show he knows me. Calling me outside so I can hear the thunder that’s still distant, telling me to grab my camera and loading me in the car or walking me to something he knows I’ll want to see. Whenever I get it into my head to try something new, he sees to it I have what I need. There’s a greenhouse and raised beds because I wanted to grow more things, even though I suck at growing anything. A sound booth downstairs because I wanted to learn how to record audiobooks. He brings home pencils and paints and puts up shelves for my books even though he hates putting up shelves almost as much as he hates reading. He has sat through the entire series of Downton Abbey and every one of the movies. 😂 I never asked him to do any of those things. Just like the lady on the bench wasn’t asking the man to hold that umbrella. She might wish they sat closer together. Might wish they were talking. She might feel a little cold and lonely. But she’s cared about. She can love the part of him that holds the umbrella and extend grace to the part of him that needs the space between them on the bench. To be honest, that space has probably done me more good than harm anyway as far as teaching me to rely on and value myself. It’s just sometimes when I get to wishing that I like having the visual of that umbrella there to remind me. There is some precious warmth here.