If you wanted to know what a typical day with Mel looked like, you probably wouldn’t find anything particularly extraordinary about it. There weren’t necessarily grand adventures, elaborate plans, or anything that would make somebody stop and say, “Wow, what an exciting life.” But if you knew her, you’d recognize the little things immediately. She had a way of doing things that was entirely her own, and after thirty-two years of marriage, I’d gotten pretty familiar with most of them. Some made me smile, some made me shake my head, and occasionally I wondered how this woman had managed to get me to do something I’d had absolutely no intention of doing five minutes earlier.
Mornings often started with a request for a mocha. Now, Mel could have simply said, “Hey, would you get me a mocha?” But that would have been far too straightforward. She had a gift for making an ordinary request into a little production, usually with enough humor that I was laughing before I had a chance to consider whether I wanted to leave the house.
One evening, she’d made risotto for dinner. Not some halfhearted, throw-it-together risotto, either. I’m talking saffron and everything. If foodgasm is a word, it would be an entirely appropriate description of that meal. It was that fucking good. The next morning, Mel looked at me and asked, “You loved dinner last night, right?” Of course I did, and I told her so. Then came the follow-up. “Did it earn getting a mocha would help soothe the exhaustion I am suffering right now?”
Now, I’m not entirely sure how the quality of last night’s dinner translated into an emergency mocha requirement the following morning, but I was laughing my ass off. And how exactly do you tell someone no when they’ve just made you laugh that hard? She’d turned a cup of coffee into payment for services rendered, complete with a very compelling argument about her personal suffering. I was outmaneuvered before I even knew we were negotiating. And honestly, after that risotto, she had a pretty strong case.
That was one of the things I loved about Mel. She could be playful in ways that caught me completely off guard. She had a sense of humor that was distinctly hers, and when she decided to use it, you could find yourself laughing at something that would otherwise have been a completely forgettable part of the day. She could also be stubborn, particular about things, and occasionally a pain in the ass. Of course, having been married to me for thirty-two years, I’m fairly certain she could have made a similar observation. Probably with considerably more supporting evidence.
After the mocha situation had been resolved, she’d often settle in with YouTube. Mel enjoyed educational videos, personal growth topics, and things that might help her better understand herself or the world around her. She had a genuine interest in learning, and I admired that about her. It wasn’t always about mastering some new skill or accomplishing something specific. Sometimes she just wanted to understand something a little better. I think there’s something wonderful about a person who continues to be curious, even when nobody is asking them to learn anything.
There were naps, too. Mel appreciated a good nap, and I think she understood something about the value of rest that I’ve never entirely figured out. I’m the sort of person who can sit down intending to relax and somehow end up troubleshooting a computer or finding another project that absolutely does not need to be started. Mel could recognize when she needed a break and take one. I could probably stand to learn a little more from that particular habit.
At some point during the day, she’d usually ask what I wanted for dinner. It’s a question that sounds simple enough until you’ve been married for a few decades and realize that two adults can successfully raise children, manage a household, and navigate all sorts of life’s complications, yet still struggle to decide what the hell they’re going to eat. But Mel could cook, and when she decided to make something special, she really could make something special. That risotto certainly wasn’t an accident.
Then there were her video games. Mel enjoyed games like Subnautica, where you explore an alien ocean, gather resources, build things, and try not to become lunch for something considerably larger than you. I always got a kick out of the contrast. Here was a woman who could spend part of her day watching videos about personal growth and understanding the human mind, then happily spend hours exploring an underwater alien world. She had a curious mind, a playful side, and interests that were entirely her own. I liked that about her.
Evenings often ended with her enjoying a beer, spending a little more time doing whatever had captured her attention, and eventually coming to bed, frequently later than I did. That was part of our rhythm. We didn’t have to do everything together or enjoy all the same things. After thirty-two years, we’d learned that being married didn’t mean becoming the same person. Mel was still Mel, and I was still the guy who could disappear down a technological rabbit hole for hours because I wanted to find out why something wasn’t working.
When I think about the word signature, I don’t think about somebody’s name written on a piece of paper. I think about the habits, expressions, interests, and little quirks that make a person recognizable without even having to say their name. Mel had plenty of them. Some were endearing, some were funny, and some probably tested my patience now and then. That’s what happens when you share a life with somebody. You get the whole person, not just the parts that make for a pretty story.
And I wouldn’t want to remember her any other way.
I don’t want Mel to become some impossibly perfect person in my memories simply because she’s no longer here. She was a real woman with opinions, humor, curiosity, frustrations, and a personality that could fill a room when she wanted it to. She could make an incredible dinner, find a ridiculous way to ask for a mocha, spend an afternoon learning something new, and then go explore an alien ocean before calling it a night. That was her, and those are the things I want to keep talking about.
I suppose that’s what a person’s signature really is. Not necessarily the big things they accomplished or the important things they said, but those little moments that couldn’t possibly have belonged to anyone else. I can still picture Mel making her case for a mocha, looking for all the world like she’d just presented an airtight argument before a jury. And somewhere in the middle of laughing my ass off, I knew I was going to get that mocha.
Thirty-two years together, and she still knew exactly how to work me.
Especially when saffron was involved.