Il y a des choses

Il y a des choses. Il ya des choses qu'on ne dit pas. There are things. There are things you don't talk about. Idir, the talented Algerian Kabyle poet and singer knows this. He showed courage when he included " Lettre ouverte a ma fille", among his songs, a song where he speaks freely about his love for his daughter and his reservations about her happiness within her cultural context. The emotion and sincerity in the song are very touching. I thought about Idir's song this morning and it triggered a realization that looked at the letter he wrote for his daughter from my own reality. My husband and I have been married now for 27 years, and in spite of certain and persistent challenges in our relationship there is a lot of love and tenderness. Having grown up on opposite sides of the globe , in very different circumstances, we met, and fell in love. We have a 21 year old son, a cozy home, and a long history of taking in unwanted and neglected dogs and cats. We are very different people. I am very gregarious, restless, spiritual and passionate. My husband is very quiet, analytical, practical and stoic. Our interests do not coincide, our temperaments are very different, and yet there is a strong bond between us that is here to stay. There are times when it is tempting to be critical, and I wish it was simpler and easier to communicate and work things out. But there is so much goodwill and effort on both our sides, that in the end any stress just melts under the desire to overcome and find a healthy compromise, and those illusory wishes evaporate. I have found that there are many times when silence in the name of kindness and respect can be as effective as an abundance of words and justifications. Il ya des choses. There are things. There are things better left unsaid, untouched. I find that true in many concerns, from the mundane to the very personal and intimate. Anatomy has its place, and as the word's Greek meaning infers, the ana and tomy, the taking apart, is something to be handled very gingerly in marriage. The thing about anatomy is that it tends to be permanent, and that it is done on corpses, that is people who are no more. Marriage anatomy is done, so to speak, on live people, on our life partners, that somehow we hope to understand and love better when we take them apart emotionally and psychologically, thinking no permanent damage will be done. Nothing could be more incorrect and foolish to assume. Idir belongs to a culture that has been around for a very long time, and in spite of some misgivings about how that culture now affects his daughter as she is on the threshold of adulthood, he honours his culture and its wisdom. IL ya des choses qu'on ne dit pas. There are things we do not say. There is a good measure of wisdom in that. That does not mean of course that I oppose healthy discourse, no intelligent man or woman should, but the taking apart down to the sinew of the people who share our space and life is in the end very unproductive and unkind. Like some flowers thrive in full sun and light, and others thrive in part shade and indirect light, so there are issues in each relationship that do much better in part shade, while others enjoy full light and it is love and devotion that teaches us the difference over time. It brings Jean Stapleton to mind and her brilliant portrayal of the long suffering but wise and kind Edith Bunker, who in the end teaches her difficult husband more efficiently about true love than any bitter analysis or resentful retaliation could. That takes courage , humility, faith and enormous patience in the name of love. But love is the answer, it is just not the easiest or fastest one. I watched my husband sleep this morning, and it was touching to me to be reminded of how vulnerable humans look when asleep. This man has shared my life for the past 29 years, on good days and bad, and as many times as I may get frustrated with him, I am sure he has felt the same way. But he is still here, every day, and he is the only person who massages my feet when I feel stressed and tired. He is the only one who makes me waffles on the weekend, and goes to the doctor with me when I feel sick. He is the only one who brings me flowers just for the heck of it, and who buys me jewelry even when it is not my birthday. We are not a perfect couple, far from it, but there is a willingness there to keep trying to care about each other , to keep believing in each other and our life with our son as a small but very cohesive family here in the Pacific Northwest, far from my native Belgium and far enough from his native California. Il ya des choses, There are things. We both come from complicated and quite dysfunctional families, and there are days those skeletons threaten to spill out of the closets, but there too, I am learning that it is best most times, to pat the skeletons on the head, and shut the door. We each know the stories those skeletons have by heart, and it takes more heart to just let them go back to sleep. They are what they are. There are things better left unsaid, when all has been viewed and understood from all possible angles. Then let love do the rest, the kind of love that goes to work every day, on good days and bad, that remembers with a kind smile, that " chez nous, il ya des choses qu'on ne dit pas."