I love my wife. I love her so much. She was just twenty-four when I married her. We met at a dinner in her place of work during the celebration of a course she had just completed along with some colleagues. Ade is a very brilliant woman, sociable, very outgoing and had a way with words. All these and her petite frame endeared her to me. Her gentle eyes were naïve and helpless and beseeched affection. Her warm smile and was distinct beauty made her unique.
I wooed Ade for four months before she consented to go out with me. Not that I was not good looking or that I was not good enough but there was always this cautionary look of hers that kept me at a distance. Six month later, we got married. We were much more than friends than partners. I doted on my wife and in return she loved and respected me. Ours was a rosy union and we were the cynosure of all eyes wherever we went. We had such powerful affection and our love waxed stronger by the passing of each day. It was all rosy until seven months into our marriage when the old hollow look resurfaced in my wife’s eyes.
She became distant, cold and would fly into rage at any opportunity. Not that I hadn’t noticed this trait in Ade during our courtship. She would become short-tempered, impatient and generally wanted things done her way. Not once had she screamed down the phone when we were dating for breaking a “promise” to take her out, call her or go over to her place. I overlooked all these because of the love I had for her and I reasoned that since it was always all about her, she was bound to be selfish. I was at least seven years older than she was and saw her tantrums as similar to the one my younger sister would throw when as we grew up. Ade would come back from work, prepare our meal, eat in silence and go straight to bed. I would follow her to the room and ask her what was wrong with her, if she had some disagreement with her colleagues at work, if she was not feeling too fine and Ade would mutter that she was fine. Her silence afterwards was deafening and painful. It seemed as though there was a wall that had gradually built up between us.
Sometimes in the midnight, I would be woken by her whimper and would hear Ade crying in her sleep. I would wake her up and the horror in her eyes made my heart sink. I saw through her how unguarded she was, how insecure. How very much she slipped away into her own shell, withdrawing painfully like an earthworm in a salty soil, withdrawing from something I never knew, running from something she never told me about. So did she keep hold of her fears.
She would snap in and out of moods within moments and suffer bouts of fleeting depression. She was unpredictable and would start crying anytime I had to leave her for days on business trips. I would hold her for hours while she cried her eyes out and she would mutter muffled words, words I couldn’t decipher. Sometimes, she would tell me to leave her alone and stay away and when I started to leave, she would run after me and fling herself at me and beg me to stay. She frustrated me so much. I was her therapist, her baby sitter, her counsellor, her everything. I bore everything because from all indications, she needed me more than anything in the world and I made sure I was always there for her. Amazingly, Ade’s troubles didn’t affect her work as she waxed stronger and stronger but despite all these nothing seemed to make her happy. Her favourite line was “It makes no difference to me”. If I made as much as the littlest of mistake, Ade would make it seem like a betrayal, she would weep that I did not love her and that she had a feeling I was about to leave. But once again, like always, I would console her and say, “Ade, I will never leave you, you are my assignment, I won’t fail because I could not figure you out”.
Then she would hold on tight to me for hours, repeating the same words,” Please, don’t leave me”.
I wooed Ade for four months before she consented to go out with me. Not that I was not good looking or that I was not good enough but there was always this cautionary look of hers that kept me at a distance. Six month later, we got married. We were much more than friends than partners. I doted on my wife and in return she loved and respected me. Ours was a rosy union and we were the cynosure of all eyes wherever we went. We had such powerful affection and our love waxed stronger by the passing of each day. It was all rosy until seven months into our marriage when the old hollow look resurfaced in my wife’s eyes.
She became distant, cold and would fly into rage at any opportunity. Not that I hadn’t noticed this trait in Ade during our courtship. She would become short-tempered, impatient and generally wanted things done her way. Not once had she screamed down the phone when we were dating for breaking a “promise” to take her out, call her or go over to her place. I overlooked all these because of the love I had for her and I reasoned that since it was always all about her, she was bound to be selfish. I was at least seven years older than she was and saw her tantrums as similar to the one my younger sister would throw when as we grew up. Ade would come back from work, prepare our meal, eat in silence and go straight to bed. I would follow her to the room and ask her what was wrong with her, if she had some disagreement with her colleagues at work, if she was not feeling too fine and Ade would mutter that she was fine. Her silence afterwards was deafening and painful. It seemed as though there was a wall that had gradually built up between us.
Sometimes in the midnight, I would be woken by her whimper and would hear Ade crying in her sleep. I would wake her up and the horror in her eyes made my heart sink. I saw through her how unguarded she was, how insecure. How very much she slipped away into her own shell, withdrawing painfully like an earthworm in a salty soil, withdrawing from something I never knew, running from something she never told me about. So did she keep hold of her fears.
She would snap in and out of moods within moments and suffer bouts of fleeting depression. She was unpredictable and would start crying anytime I had to leave her for days on business trips. I would hold her for hours while she cried her eyes out and she would mutter muffled words, words I couldn’t decipher. Sometimes, she would tell me to leave her alone and stay away and when I started to leave, she would run after me and fling herself at me and beg me to stay. She frustrated me so much. I was her therapist, her baby sitter, her counsellor, her everything. I bore everything because from all indications, she needed me more than anything in the world and I made sure I was always there for her. Amazingly, Ade’s troubles didn’t affect her work as she waxed stronger and stronger but despite all these nothing seemed to make her happy. Her favourite line was “It makes no difference to me”. If I made as much as the littlest of mistake, Ade would make it seem like a betrayal, she would weep that I did not love her and that she had a feeling I was about to leave. But once again, like always, I would console her and say, “Ade, I will never leave you, you are my assignment, I won’t fail because I could not figure you out”.
Then she would hold on tight to me for hours, repeating the same words,” Please, don’t leave me”.
My wife is now expecting our first child, her moods has become worse and I must admit that I am not finding it easy. I cannot leave her, not now, not ever. Not when she carried the seal of our union. I will not give up on Ade. I had promised to stand by her and be her guide through every storm, and her companion under the rainbow. Not that Ade was entirely a moodball. One cannot ask for a better wife when she is in a good mood; witty, hilarious, mischievous and would pull pranks that would keep us reeling in laughter. She would apply my shaving cream for me and insist on me giving her piggy rides around the house but all these changed when her moods set in. She would keep quiet and say nothing to no one and then snap out of the mood like nothing happened. In all honesty, being married to Ade is like being married to six different women. I hope she is restored soon to the Ade I met, fell in love with and courted, the ever-smiling Ade. Until then I look forward to the birth of our child. I plan to name the baby after us because I want her to have Ade’s strength and my patience… Life is beautiful after all, isn’t it?
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