I’ll Say This One Thing About Love

Last week, I read I Feel Bad About My Neck by one of my favorite writers, the late, great Nora Ephron. It’s a collection of essays on aging, empty-nesting, and life as a woman of a certain age, observed by Ephron with her classic knack for language and honesty. (“Our faces are lies and our necks are the truth. You have to cut open a redwood tree to see how old it is, but you wouldn’t have to if it had a neck.”)

In one chapter, she talks about her parents’ love story– how it was ingrained in their family mythology, and how she took comfort in knowing her parents once loved each other despite their dysfunction.

She goes on to say that in a divorced family, “you never tell your children that you were once madly in love with their father, because that would be too confusing.” The saddest part, she then says, is that “after a while, you can’t even remember whether you were.”

It’s so true, I thought, in despair. She’s so wise and right! I can’t remember! It is the saddest! I proceeded to have a couch meltdown, because I am, it would appear, easily swayed by the words of authors I love.

This lasted about four seconds. Then I thought, wait a minute. That’s not true at all.

Of course I remember being in love with the father of my children. It was green love, innocent and untested. Sometimes I think our biggest problem was that we didn’t know how to translate that love into adulthood and make it work. But it was still love. I’m not saying I’d discuss this at dinner every night, but should one of the girls ask me if I loved their father, I won’t stumble on an answer.

What I have now with Kyle is love, too. It’s different – more honest, more resilient, built on the understanding that love itself needs constant care and feeding. We work hard at it. Sometimes we accidentally set it on fire, and we have to rebuild it. This isn't the version of love I started with, but I will protect it, fight for it, and find joy in it for the rest of my life. Especially because on the weekends, he always makes me a cup of coffee before he makes his own.

Both versions are now part of the girls’ family story. When they get older and start figuring out what love means for them, I will remind them it’s okay for their definition to change over time as they change. It doesn’t mean one is less true or real than another.

I hate to disagree with Nora Ephron. I still imagine an alternate universe where she invites me to her New York apartment for wine every Tuesday. But I happen to have two good love stories, and they are both worth remembering.