Discover more from common stories
A few hours ago, I stole a gray crewneck sweatshirt out of Jake’s unpacked duffel bag upstairs. It says EMERGENCY down the right arm, and all the letters are in white except for the first E and the R, which are in red. I love this sweatshirt for a few reasons, but mostly right now, I love it because it smells like Jake. Like it very specifically smells like Jake and called to mind a memory as soon as I put it on: Once, when we were engaged, Jake mailed me a piece of one of his flannel shirts at the beginning of Christmas break, so I would have a piece of him with me while we were apart. Today’s sweatshirt smells exactly like 2007’s small square of flannel.
//
A few years into our marriage, Jake went on a 10-day trip to the Middle East with our church. The day after he left, I started finding pink post-it notes all around the little pool house we rented. Have I told you lately that I love you? wrapped around my computer cord. You mean the world to me in a frying pan. I love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love you in between two slices of bread in the middle of the store-bought loaf.
//
The day after we got home from the hospital with Lily, our first baby, Jake left just after breakfast because he needed to study for his first round of medical school boards. Lily and I went to my parents’ house for the day where she proceeded to refuse to latch and, as such, eat for something like six hours. Sometime in the late afternoon, my mom drove us—both completely inconsolable—to a friend’s house who happened to be a doula/mother of six kids. She suspected my milk wasn’t in yet, so she sent me home with two bottles of Guinness and a prescription for skin-to-skin contact. Jake came home to find me in a near hysterical state, completely exposed with a baby on my chest and a dark, stout beer in my hand. I don’t remember what he said, but I do remember laughing for the first time that day.
//
Right after we moved to Cleveland when Jake was still figuring out how to be a medical resident working 100-hour weeks, he came home from a long shift at one of his hospitals to find me alone in the basement picking up crayons that had been strewn all across the floor. He immediately got down on his hands and knees and helped me pick them all up.
//
A few birthdays ago, Jake bought me my own set of golf clubs. Someone gave him a hard time about it—accused him of buying them for me so he could get away with playing more golf. Is that how you feel? he asked me. Was it a selfish gift to give?
It made me feel like you invited me into this part of your life, I said. Like you want to spend more time with me.
Good, he said. I do.
//
A few days ago, I completely melted down around dinner time about nothing and everything which suddenly felt huge in my own mind. He found me hiding in our bedroom under the cover of our bedspread. At some point in our relationship, this kind of shut down would have fully irritated him because he possesses a neat ability to compartmentalize and enjoy the present moment at almost all times. On this day though, I never once felt any irritation. He asked me what I was feeling and then circled back and asked me again. In between, he gave me some space. He let me feel what I was feeling.
//
A few days before our wedding fifteen years ago, someone advised me to stop periodically throughout the day to take mental pictures of each moment. It will help you remember more, she told me. I worked hard to do this—Jake did too—but only a few clear snapshots rise to the surface today: The look on my maid of honor’s face when I ripped a giant hole in my veil before the ceremony. The general layout of the hotel ballroom where our reception was held. A conversation with my mom just before the end of the night.
The rest of the day is fuzzy and most of my memories now live in photographs or in the raw footage of the day. I watch the event unfold on film as anyone else would.
That simple advice has served me well though. When I stop to pay attention and notice even the smallest gesture of love or appreciation or deference, I remember more. It’s funny how memories work like that. How the smell on the neckline of a sweatshirt can pull you back to a small piece of flannel in your childhood bedroom. How that small piece of flannel was so much more than just that. How it all is so much more than just that.
Fifteen years of marriage. It’s all the small things. And that’s no small thing.
My favorite kind of love story. The everyday kind. 😍
Marriage... Relationships... Love "It’s all the small things. And that’s no small thing." This line 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻