The Fight

It was our biggest fight ever, well not our biggest, but certainly the biggest fight of our marriage. I was livid, and super charged with frustration. And I was saying a lot. I’m sure our neighbours heard us screaming at each other, and if they didn’t, they sure as hell heard the door when I slammed it shut, silently hoping it would break off its f**king hinges.

I was mad. He was mad. We were both mad. And when you are angry you say things that hurt, that cut each other like a sword. We weren’t just cutting though; we were wielding and sinking our swords like gladiators battling for glory. Our words were our swords, and with every swipe, we took turns at plunging them a bit deeper. And neither of us was backing down.

I won’t say what the fight was about (some things must be kept private after all), but were we divided, split right down the middle. I thought he was being completely unreasonable, a little ungrateful and extremely inconsiderate.  He thought I was being selfish, pompous and a lot of ungrateful.

It was the kind of argument which made you stay mad for days. My anger was intense. I was so mad that even though my car was in the garage, and I needed a ride, I preferred to call a cab to get me to and from work.

By the second day, I had fully made up my mind: if he wasn’t willing to see how unreasonable he was being, I was completely prepared to go about my business as if he didn’t exist. Clearly, he had also arrived at the same conclusion. So, we continued to coexist... in silence.

Day three

I got up and started to get ready for work… in silence. He broke the silence, not to apologise, but to take care of a simple housekeeping matter. I gave him my obligatory response, and walked into the bathroom, then stepped into the shower.

As if he couldn’t hold it back any longer, he blurted out, “Junior had a stroke.”

I froze. Junior is my husband’s brother. All kinds of thoughts were racing through my mind. This can’t be happening right now. But he was just here yesterday. What do you mean he had a stroke? Jesus Christ!

I dropped my pouf sponge, stepped out of the shower and crawled into the bed beside him.

“Oh my God, honey, when did this happen? How is he? How are you?!” My voice rising with panic.

He pulled me into his arms. “Oh my God! Something this serious can’t happen and you not tell me right away. I don’t care how mad you are with me, you call me right away, okay?!”

And in that moment, everything else seemed completely insignificant and inconsequential. The huge fight which had us at each other’s throat for the past two days seemed stupid, petty and pointless. My anger melted away.  I didn’t need him to apologise or to acknowledge that he was wrong.  It didn’t matter. I wasn’t even thinking about our fight. I just needed him to be okay.

My mind was racing: what if something had happened to my husband? What if my husband had a stroke? What if something had happened to him while I was mad at him?

“I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.” I hugged him tighter, buried my head in his chest and started to cry.

Sometimes it takes a disaster to bring us back to reality-- to see what really matters. I knew he was hurting, and more than anything else I wanted to make it stop. Nothing else mattered, because that’s what you do when you love someone.

P.S.

Thankfully, Garfield’s brother has recovered and is almost back to his old self!

Oh, and we still haven’t resolved the issue. I have arrived at the conclusion that sometimes it’s okay to accept that you’ll never see things the same way. Truth is: we are not a shiny, happy-go-lucky couple all the time. But, perhaps if we can still love each other anyway, when we are at our realist and our worst, then it was really meant to be.

After all, all couples fight.