Our Story of Love

As usual, I've been prioritizing poorly. I literally spend my days walking around with a constant list of blog ideas playing through my brain, and yet I don't make the time to get it out. It can't be good for my health!

I have started another, on a topic close to my heart, and just haven't gotten around to finishing it. We've had a lot going on, which will be explained better in later posts, but I finally got some inspiration; this time with a deadline.

My Gramma had bought a magazine. In it she found an article that interested her, that she thought I would enjoy. I did. Right after that article there was an advertisement for a writing contest. It asked if you had a good love story. I nodded. It said to write it in 2500-3000 words. I did.

I actually do love the love story I share with my husband. It's had its fair share of ups and downs, admittedly, but the paths that brought us together, apart, and then back together again sound like they're from a movie when I tell them. I've had friends ask to hear the story again, which always reminds me that I'm not the only one. 

I've been told I should contact Nicholas Sparks to share the story with him. That he could write a story based on it, that would someday be a movie. I should add that I love Nicholas Sparks love stories, and every movie they've made to represent the original books. I never knew whether our love story would actually make it onto paper, though.

The deadline was September 1st. I met it - just.

And, although it's about my husband and I, the thread that holds it together is my Mom. This blog is about her, and our relationship; while she was living, and since her passing. I feel closer to her now than I've ever felt before, and my husband was one of her favourite people. She knew he was the best thing to ever happen to me.

So, I wrote our story. With a time limit, and a word limit, but I wrote it. When I submitted it I thanked the reader in advance for taking the time to read it. I also said that above all else, win or lose, it will be great to share with our children some day.

And now I can cross my "Husband" blog off of my list of "Blogs to Write".

Maybe this is just what I need to get back to this thing I love so much, that I set so little time aside for.

So here we go... my entry... 

Our Story of Love

I grew up as an only child, raised by a single parent, from the age of 2 on. Because of this, I never fully understood what a loving, marital relationship was. I was constantly reminded of how difficult and unnecessary men are, and I was taught that women can – and should – thrive on their own. I learned indirectly that men were more work than they were worth, and that there were, “worse things than being alone”.

Still, love and marriage intrigued me. Despite the hostility towards marriage and men that I was continually inundated with, I was hopeful. I guess you could say I am a romantic, and I was just waiting for my sign. Luckily enough, it came when I was only 12 years old.

I attended my best friend’s 13^th birthday party. It was a co-ed dance, and because we went to different schools, I was the odd one out. I was outside of my comfort zone, and shyly approached the celebrations.

That’s where I saw him for the first time.

He was obviously good-looking. He wore clothes that were in style, and had a blonde mushroom cut; “the” haircut of the time. He wore sunglasses all night, despite the dimly lit community hall, and held his lips in a confident pout. When I first saw him, it was as if someone pulled a rug out from underneath me, and I felt like I was falling down really fast. I hadn't even caught a glimpse of his huge baby blues, and yet I was smitten. It was clear he loved to dance (a favourite pastime of mine), and didn't care who else was, or who was looking.

This boy before me was a stark contrast to any boys I’d ever known. He was attractive and stylish, but looking back, it was his confidence, his dance skills, and the fact that he didn't care who was on the dance floor with him that attracted me to him so. I was literally mesmerized. So much so that when he finally asked me what my name was, I don’t know how I found the courage to flirt with him. I lied, and told him my name was Biff. It was a conversation starter, anyway, although I don’t remember the few words that followed.

I then made it my mission to track him, via my best friend. On their grade 8 graduation trip I sent her with my 35mm camera to sneak photos of him. I even invited him to a garage band concert local parents in our area hosted, and was surprised when he came. I was genuinely surprised he gave me the time of day. We had practically the same wardrobe, and almost the same haircut, and I was just a younger girl from the other side of the tracks. We just as quickly lost touch, because we went to separate high schools, and I never thought our paths would cross again.

Back in our day there was an online messenger program called ICQ. Anyone who remembers it will remember the tell-tale, sing-song ‘uh oh’ you would hear when someone added you to their list or sent you a message. When I was 17, and he was 18, he found me there. I still remember my wild - and yet silent - happy dance, when I realized he was re-connecting with me. I was single, the memory of him was vivid, and I truly felt it was a dream.

After some back and forth small talk, he invited me to watch a movie at his house. I obliged. And after watching not one, but two movies, we had our first kiss. That began an 8 month whirlwind courtship, which I don’t think ever really sunk in.

Certain things happened in that 8 months that I will never forget: it was the first year as far back as I could remember that my Mom opted for a full-sized Christmas tree. Up to that point we had always used the same 3 foot ‘Charlie Brown-esque’ tree every year. To make it look taller, we would place it atop an old stool, and drape a table cloth around its base. The tips of its vintage branches were sprayed with a thick coating of fake snow, and we didn't even take the decorations of each year; we simply covered it with a garbage bag and stored it in the basement. Quite a romantic tradition.

This Christmas was different, though. We had a big tree, and we felt festive. My Mom had never been so welcoming and open to a friend or boyfriend in all my life. She truly trusted and liked him. And to top it off, he gave me a beautiful white gold ring as a gift that year. It had my birthstone in the center (which was also my mom’s birthstone) with a diamond on either side. He even surprised me one day by showing up at my high school, with a rose in hand. He bravely wandered the halls until he found me (which I might add he did, somehow, as I greedily devoured fries and gravy). I’m sure I was quite a sight.

The boy who had wowed me 5 years earlier was now ‘mine’, and yet I held him so high on a pedestal that he was always just out of reach - always teetering - as if ready to fall away from me.

He was too good to be true; good looking, popular, kind, smart, funny, and mostly? He got along with my Mom. That was a feat for many, especially the ‘boys’ who had come into my life up to that point. I was living the dream.

I still have photos from my 18^th birthday that year. A huge group of family and friends gathered at a restaurant, with me at the head of the table. He was to my left. My uncle captured a photo of me grinning in front of my birthday cake. My smile so huge my eyes are actually closed. In the corner, you can see him watching, smiling on. Admiring me, clearly, from the sidelines. It’s funny to see that now, because it’s a raw and honest moment that I didn't believe in back then.

That was January 31^st. By Valentine’s day that same year I had convinced myself that our relationship could never work. I had always been good at going for the wrong guy up to that point, and now that I had a good one, I didn't believe I could keep him happy. We were both very busy with our schooling and extra-curriculars. We rarely saw each other, and struggled with the fact that we had completely different high schools and groups of friends. Post-secondary education loomed in the distance for both of us, which promised to only pull us further apart. I ended things before they got messy. I started the ‘mutual break-up conversation’ before anyone could get hurt.

The thing I didn't realize was that he cared for me more than realized. Someone did get hurt - he did. I never would have imagined that, given my overall feelings about love, commitment, and who I was in comparison to what he represented. I felt I was doing him a favour; I was setting him free, so he could pursue bigger and better things.

We tried to remain friends at first, but that didn't work out. It rarely does. My Mom was quite hurt by the news. So much so that she claimed, jokingly, that if he wasn't going to be my boyfriend, he’d have to be hers.

7 years went by without any real contact. My Mom wore the ring he’d given me, he and I lived in separate provinces, and we both ended up in long-term relationships.

No matter how much I tried or convinced myself, anyone I met or dated (including my boyfriend of 4 years) never fully compared to him. Don’t get me wrong, that particular ex is an incredible person who I loved very much, who deserves nothing but happiness, but in the end? We just didn't ‘fit’.

I was busy collecting more proof that true love and long-term commitment and happiness weren't possible. I ended up single again, and actually believed I’d just stay that way.

One time my Mom came to visit me in University. We invited a friend of mine to join us for lunch. Her relationship with her high school sweetheart had just ended, as he’d met someone else. They’d lived together, and she’d worn a promise ring. That was the emptiest part of her new puzzle; her bare finger. My Mom, still wearing the ring from so long ago, took it off and gave it to her as a replacement. She stated it was from a good guy, with good intentions, and could bring her comfort and luck. She accepted the gift.

Soon university was over, and I was moving back home to my little 500 person town, to live with my still single Mom. Anyone who has made this transition knows it isn't easy, but I was able to commute from there to my faculty of education. I saved money, which I traded for sanity, and rarely got out to socialize. So many people from my town had moved out and on to bigger and better things. I, on the other hand, had put my car in reverse. I was moving forward in my future endeavors, but felt a bit ‘stuck’.

One night my childhood best friend’s younger sister invited me to a pub. She was meeting friends, and knew I was bored and lonely. I drove, and tagged along.

You won’t believe who walked into that same pub that night. It was as if I was 12 again, seeing him for the very first time. He had also recently moved home, and wandered out that night looking to see who might still be around. He certainly wasn't banking on seeing me, I’m sure. Once again, the earth fell out from under me. I can only imagine the look on my face, as I struggled to catch my breath.

We both abandoned the pub and opted to sit in his car. We listened to quiet music, with the windows rolled down. We caught up as much as we could, and even reminisced about our short time together. I claimed the break-up was mutual, he hinted otherwise, and we laughed about our young, awkward and innocent romance, which was cut short before it could ripen to much of anything.

From that point on we were reconnected as friends. I lived 20 minutes away, and neither of us had many friends left in the area. We talked almost daily. Me on my drive home from teachers’ college, he enduring his long commute home from the city. Even though we were ‘just friends’ he always seemed to write back when I texted, and answered when I called. Beyond that, I could tell he was smiling when he said hello. We quickly became 2 peas in a pod, filling a void for the other.

Sometimes we’d go to dinner. Other times to the movies. We were each other’s ‘drunk dial’ when we were out celebrating with our other friends. We even went to each other’s family dinners at holiday times, and exchanged thoughtful gifts at Christmas. My friends told me he was perfect for me, his best friend and sister ultimately told me we were perfect for each other, and yet I was happy to keep things as they were.

You see, he was still on a pedestal and I was still ‘not good enough’. As long as there was no intimacy to our connection, I didn't worry about letting him down. I feared being hurt, so I kept him at arm’s length.

After nearly 2 years he moved to the city to shorten his commute. Suddenly we didn't talk as much, or see each other as easily. I missed him fiercely, and didn't know how to grapple with those feelings. I feared he would get snatched up by someone more worthy, and I’d lose him as a friend forever. I started to have a change of heart.

That year, he and his roommates hosted a New Year’s Eve party. He invited me as a guest. Not being from the city, I asked him where I could stay. He offered his bed, and said he’d sleep on the floor. I agreed to attend.

Throughout that night he was barely attentive. I immediately felt the distance that had grown between us, and had regrets about not pursuing him more seriously when I had the chance. He was so close, and yet felt so far. Looking back, I now know that he was just doing what he was supposed to; he was entertaining his guests. He was doing what he loves; he was DJing the party.

At about 11:55pm he left the music to play on its own and started lingering near me. I felt that same falling down fast feeling I’d felt before, as the clock neared midnight. The countdown loudly rang in around us. He stepped close, and looked me in the eyes and said, “Can I kiss you now?”

I nodded.

That, I am proud to say, will go down in history as our last first kiss. We've been together since, and it’s now been over 5 years. We have faced a lot of ups and downs together in the meantime, and I am happy to say I now have nothing but faith in love, commitment, and marriage. I understand that it takes work, won’t always be easy, and has to be built on a foundation of friendship and respect for it to properly work. I've always loved a great love story, but ours, admittedly, is my favourite.

In a nutshell, my friend who had been wearing the original ring he’d given me returned it to him without my knowledge. She somehow connected the dots, and knew he was the same guy from so many years before. The first time he told me he loved me he returned that original ring. I thought I might never get it back.

Only a year into our relationship my Mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer. One time he came to pick me up for a date, and unlike others in the past who merely honked their horns from the driveway, he came inside to say hello. My Mom had been in the basement doing laundry, and could only muster the energy to kneel on the top stair in order to greet him. He took off his shoes, walked over to her, and stooped to his knees in front of her in order to give her a hug. Ask anyone - he gives the best hugs. I knew I’d love him forever from that moment on.

A few months later my Mom’s health suddenly plummeted. She ended up in the hospital, and we were told she wouldn't ever come home. This is when I would expect a man to run. I (being the only child, to a single parent) was nothing but struggles and baggage. I was already broken. I already needed patience and work. Things were about to get harder, and fast.

He did the opposite, though, and proposed.

It gave me something positive to focus on, and my Mom the peace of mind that someone would take care of me in her absence.

Then he took it a step further and suggested we get married at the hospital, if she permitted. Up to that point she would only see me, and him in small doses. Both of her parents and brothers were still living at the time, and in more recent years, she and my Dad had even found peace and become friends. The people who loved and respected her most were desperate to say their goodbyes, and out of pride, fear and embarrassment, she wasn't letting them.

She surprised us both by agreeing to the ceremony.

In 10 short days we pulled together the most perfect, rooftop, garden patio wedding. The staff of the hospital (particularly the palliative care ward) were more than happy to support us in something so positive. So often their days are understandingly grim. The nurses put my Mom in one of her most beautiful dresses. I did her makeup, finishing with her signature red lips. I wore a proper white wedding dress, had my hair done, and carried a bouquet of freesia; my Mom’s favourite flower.

I offered to push in her hospital bed, so that she could ‘walk me down the aisle’, but she opted to watch my Dad bring me in instead. Both sides of our immediate family were in attendance, the hospital Chaplin led our beautiful Blessing Ceremony, and we danced our first dance to my Mom’s favourite love song; Gordon Lightfoot’s “Beautiful”.

Being an emotional and sensitive person, I’m surprised to admit that I didn't shed a tear that day. Amid obvious sadness and struggle, I knew how blessed I was to be sharing that moment with the woman who had courageously raised me, single-handedly. This was my proof that all clouds have silver linings.

After the ceremony, the nurses wheeled my Mom’s bed back to her room. Before going out on the town for dinner as a large group, my new husband and I went and tucked my Mom in and said our goodnight's. I never would have guessed that would be the last time I would see my Mom awake.

The next morning she was in an unconscious state, and by 8am the next day, she slipped peacefully away. It was beautiful, and yet obviously terrifying. The woman who had watched my first breath, had just taken her last in my presence. That could have crippled me, admittedly, but he was by my side. It will always be the most bittersweet weekend of my life.

Just over a year later, we had what we call our “Big Day”. We renewed our vows with more people in attendance. We ate, laughed, and danced the night way - much like the first night we met - 15 years earlier.

We just celebrated our 3 year anniversary since our “Big Day”, and we also just passed the 4 year anniversary for our “Blessing Ceremony”. To top that, we’re expecting our first child, due in December of this year.

Life is unpredictable, yes, but one thing’s for sure; my Mom taught me a lot about love, even when I didn't realize it. She taught me about sacrifice and commitment. She taught me to trust my instincts, and to never, ever settle.

She proved that women don’t need men, yes. But - if the right one comes along - you should never, ever, let him go.