How I Wish I Could Have Met You

I try to encourage my husband Shea to write more often, because he is a gifted writer, especially involving matters of the heart.

When we first started dating, one of the things I loved most about Shea was the compassion and love that was so apparent when he talked about his grandmother, and how he repeatedly said he wished she could have met me.

He also repeatedly talked about the pain and regret he had over not being able to speak at her funeral, for reasons he and I and few others know. But even though it hurts me knowing he didn't get to give the eulogy in person--because he wanted to so badly--here it is now. His love for her shines through. I know I would have loved her, too. 

You can see the post on his blog here, or read it in its entirety below:

Dear Grandmother

I have been honored to deliver eulogies at the funerals for several close relatives, including my maternal grandfather and my paternal grandmother.  My dad's father passed away several years before I was born, and for reasons I won't get into, I did not speak at my Grandmother Canupp's funeral. 

I have regretted it ever since.  I am sorry these words are eight years late.

Dear Grandmother,

I miss you so much every day, but I miss you most at Christmas time.  Especially Christmas Eve.  Christmas Eve was always our day.  Our entire family gathered at your house for our annual celebration.  But luckily I grew up within walking distance of your house, so I was always the first to arrive (and the last to leave.)  I just loved every part of that day with you and granddaddy, and I wanted it to last as long as possible.

I loved helping granddaddy bring in wood for the fire we would build, or serving as your unofficial food taster, or as I got older, driving to the store for last minute purchases.  I treasure the memories of the planning of those days as much as the actual parties.

There was one unplanned tradition that dominated my childhood.  I would get so excited about Christmas and food and presents, that I would literally throw up at some point during our Christmas Eve party.  This happened every year.  Until I was 11 or 12 (In an effort to stop the embarrassment, I finally decided to avoid food for 24 hours before the party.  I wound up passing out and falling down a flight of stairs.  But, next play, as they say.  Keep pounding.)

The rest of the family would always make sure I was OK and then (rightfully) enjoy a few laughs at my expense.  But grandmother, you always knew the right thing to say to make me feel better: "Santa Claus is coming. I don't know why everybody isn't throwing up."

Christmas was and remains my favorite time of year, but the truth is, every day was special with you grandmother.  I was lucky that I got to see you almost every day growing up.  I don't know how I was able to stay so skinny as a child, because a lot of days I had two dinners- at our house and yours.

In fact, everyone who knew you grandmother, will remember just hard it was to leave your house without eating or at the very least taking a plate for the road. It was next to impossible, whether you were hungry or not.  It almost became like a battle of wills.  But grandmother, you were going to win. Actually, everybody won.

Everybody thinks their grandmother is the best cook in the world.  But they are wrong.  Because you were, grandmother.  From the dressing at Thanksgiving and Christmas, to the biscuits that were made from scratch virtually every day and so much more.  And it was all delicious.  (I have to admit that fried squash was not my favorite, but yours was better than any other I've ever had.)

And grandmother, you were responsible for the single best meal I ever had: country fried steak after my high school graduation.  I can still remember being in your kitchen that night, thinking this was as good as it gets.

But grandmother, any time spent with you was automatically more special.  Our family vacations at the beach were always fun, but were off the charts when and you and granddaddy were there.  My favorite little league games were when I saw you in the crowd.  And I am so, so thankful that you and "Ma" Griffin were both able to be in Boone when I received my college diploma.

Everybody who knew you knew how much you loved the Lord.  It was powerful, and it was genuine.  And I have never known a better example of what a true Christian should be than you and granddaddy.

My favorite days in church were when I sat beside you and granddaddy.  (Actually, my very favorite days were when I sat beside you while granddaddy delivered a sermon.)  I remember you always had the little peppermint hard candies in your purse.  We would try to unwrap them as quietly as possible, then try not to laugh when we would inadvertently make too much noise.

I worked for nearly 20 years as a sports broadcaster and, whether you realize it or not, you and granddaddy had a profound influence on my career path.  Granddaddy was the biggest baseball fan I ever knew and I loved to watch games with him.  I spent nearly every Monday night of the summer at your house watching "Monday Night Baseball" (back when baseball on TV was a true event).  I also read the sports page at your house nearly every day, and you gave me my first subscription to "Sports Illustrated".

I'm sure you thought that, if anything, I could possibly write about sports some day.  I am certain that the thought of that quiet, shy kid talking about sports for a living never entered your mind.  But I loved seeing the videos of you "watching" me on the radio.  I always knew that you were proud of me.  I hope you know how much you inspired me.

There are so many more memories that spring to mind when I think of you, grandmother.  All good.  All special.  Just like you.

But you gave me my most special Christmas memory of all time, at your last Christmas on this Earth in 2007.  Alzheimer's had ravaged your memory, and I wasn't sure if you had recognized me for quite some time.  But when I walked into the nursing home to see you that day, you lit up and said "Shea Boy", the name you called me as a child.  It's a moment that still give me chills.

This Christmas Eve, as has been the case for the last few years, finds Kim and me 3,000 miles away from most of our friends and family.  I really wish you could have known Kim, grandmother.  I think the two of you would have been thick as thieves.  She had this photo of you and granddaddy printed on a canvas and framed and gave it to me for Christmas several years ago.

I just hope you knew how much I truly loved you. And still love you. Always. Merry Christmas.

Actually, Merry Christmas Eve.


by Shea Griffin 12/24/2015 

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Half of My Sky

For so many years, its weight was all my own,
endless blue days and dreamy dark nights

all at my fingertips, and on my shoulders… alone.

Expanding out before me, above me,

bowed by the weight too heavy for me to bear.

Gray misty mornings I somehow pushed to rise,
through dewy tears of loneliness

and repeating, ever-changing seasons, 

but still...

it was all me, all mine, alone.

And then, half the weight lifted.

Your arms took half the gray days, half the cloud cover,

half the rumbling days of thunder, and thick storms.

Your heart brought more blue skies and

helped show me the best 

of the brighter seasons.

You are half of my sky-- holding it for me-

bearing more weight when I am weak, 

sharing the beauty when I am strong.

It is ours together, broad and wide, 

sheltering us, glimmering above us... ours together.

We have braved our own storms, and at times, 

our sky felt low and heavy, but it never fell.

We held it high enough …together.

We endured, saw the next sunny morning, 

felt the ocean’s spray, saw the other coast greet us.

We knew we were strong enough for anything.

We are.

You are half of my sky, holding half of my world above me, 

bright and blue, large and wonderful.

And in turn, I will always be half of your sky.

Through all of our days and nights,   

the blue skies, dark clouds, gray storms, and the sea of stars,

I will be here, holding my part,

my half...

with all of my heart.

 

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Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from my house to yours! I hope everyone has a beautiful holiday full of love and joy.

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All that Brought us Here

We are now the sum of all that brought us here-

            the long, lonely road that somehow kept us both single,

                        waiting for each other.

Every step, every triumph, every loss, every disappointing detour-

            became a piece of our souls that would one day

                        only better connect us.

If only we could have known then that we each were out there-

            waiting for one another-- it would have been

                        so much easier.

If only our paths had crossed sooner--so many more days together-

            but then, it wouldn’t be what it is now,

                        and now is all I ever wanted.

Here with you-the paths diverged, lives intertwined, hearts together-

            all that brought us here-- it’s who we are now.

                        The sum, the beginning, and everything in between…us.

Happy 2nd Anniversary to my husband, best friend, soulmate, and partner in crime, Shea. I love you.

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Becoming "We"

Over the last month, I have tried so many times to write here. In the past, I have written about some of the darkest moments of my life with greater ease than dealing with the normal life stresses of the last few weeks.

My husband and I moved across the country to a place I love and have missed so much since I last lived here over 10 years ago. It is hard for me to believe that I am back here. I honestly thought I would never be more than a visitor again to the Bay Area, and as we made the long road trip to get here, I had to pinch myself just thinking about it.

We have not had the best luck since our move, in fact the move itself was a horrible experience. Things that should have panned out work wise for me just didn’t, and my husband’s job search has been so much slower than I hoped for him. What I hoped would be a huge confidence boost for him has instead seemed to help solidify some of his deepest worries.

I have been in worse straits than this, in far more financial trouble, and even worse, I was alone in dealing with it. But I have learned that being with someone only means you worry more…it’s not just me that is affected by our move, by my ideas, by my plans-- it is also affecting someone I love dearly. I hate to see him in pain, and as things have seemed to go from bad to worse, I have blamed myself for moving us out here.

But the truth was, we were already struggling before the move. This move has given us the only real hope of better careers, decent salaries, and a future with some savings and possible retirement plans. That was why both of us made this decision, something my husband has reminded me of several times since we got here. This was our decision, not just mine.

I feel like I am learning new lessons every day. First, marriage is tough. Especially as stubborn as we both are, and because we were both set in our (single) ways for some time before we got together. We have both had to make adjustments, compromise, and learn to navigate the tricky waters of being a “we”. There is not a moment that I would take back or give up, but there are tough days. I think about the fact that my husband and I know we are meant to be together, we know neither one of us is going anywhere-- we are in this for the long haul, and yet, we still fight and struggle. How do people make it if they don’t have that foundation? In so many ways, I am glad I got married a little later in life. There is magic in finding your soulmate at a young age, but there (hopefully) is some wisdom and maturity in finding that person a little later in life. I think back on snap decisions and harsh judgments I made when I was in my twenties, just how much I have changed now…for the better. I am thankful I was only dealing with my life decisions and screw ups back then, and not directly involving my life partner at that time.

Yesterday, my husband and I laughed—a lot. It was one of those days when we just enjoyed each other, despite a stressful week approaching, and the juggling act we are playing right now with paying our bills. All of that weighs on us some days more than others, but yesterday, we were just enjoying the time together. Finally, when we went to bed, Shea fell asleep and I was awake thinking about the day and how completely myself I am with him, how unbelievably silly and real I can be around him, without concern or shame. I have never had that with anyone else. It’s sad, but true. There was always a guard I kept up, or someone I was trying to be for someone else—which I was sure was better than the real me. The great thing is that Shea is equally himself, and I know that this reality we are living is tough at times, but intrinsically genuine.

Laying in bed last night, I felt a twinge of panic. Over the last year, I have had several of these episodes where I lose my bearings for a few moments, thinking of losing Shea—not having this other part of me. I have learned all too well through the loss of friends, through stories in the newspaper, and shared through friends on Facebook, that there are no promises. I realized that over the years and through relationships, I would worry about losing a boyfriend, or someone close to me, but not the way I worry now. There is this unbelievable depth in truly baring your soul and being so real with someone. I thought about how hard it would ever be for me to replicate the simplicity of that ease between us with anyone else, and how I wouldn’t want to. Despite our struggles, even though there are times when we are truly at odds, I am so thankful for what I have with Shea and I want the whole cliché of growing old together, sitting in rocking chairs on some wraparound porch together.

Finally, over the last week, we both have seen our luck turn. We both have better work prospects, interviews, and we have some hope that the tide is changing. In the scheme of things, it hasn’t taken that long. We have only been here a few months, but it has seemed like a lifetime at times, waiting for the phone to ring. Things aren’t perfect yet, and a lot of what we are hoping for hasn’t materialized, but there has just been a shift in the way we are looking at things and the way we feel.

I know we made the right decision to take this risk and move here together and make things happen.

More than anything, I know we’re in this together, all of it. Every minute-- good and bad, raw and uncensored, blissful or bleak.

I try and think about how we will look back on this time…what I want to remember. I don’t want to remember the arguments, the stress, the worry—although that’s part of it. Mostly, I want to remember that this time was when we really pulled together and learned what being “we” and “us” meant. After the wedding, the flowers, the vows, almost two years of marriage, all the adjustments and learning, that THIS was when we knew that we could make it through anything life handed us.

I hope we will also remember it as the time just before everything clicked into place and the choices we made all made sense.

But, I’ll have to get back to you on that last part…or rather, we will.

~~

The beautiful papercut art featured in this post is by artist Joe Bagley. Visit his etsy shop by clicking here.

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Signs that Perhaps I Have a Few Things on my Mind

During the year that we dated before we got married, my husband quickly learned about a few of my most prevalent quirks. Namely, I lose my keys and my cell phone a minimum of three to four times a day. I have some other more endearing idiosyncrasies, but the loss of the cell phone and keys is a constant. And yes, I have tried the clap-your-hands-to-locate-the-key-ring gadget, and the simple bowl by the door where I could easily deposit these items when entering the house so they can be effortlessly located later. But no matter what, all attempts have failed to rid me of these issues.

Luckily, as I have said before, my husband is patient and is pretty constantly amused by this phenomenon. And I don’t use the word phenomenon very often. But I have managed to lose my keys and/or cell phone within seconds of holding them in my hand, taking HOURS to find them after. I have been late or had to be a no show to dinners and gatherings because of my inability to locate my keys. And if you are still doubting my use of the word phenomenon, I present exhibit A, a photo of my keychain. The fact that it resembles a janitor’s key ring is no accident. I did this on purpose. My thinking was that SURELY if I put my keys on this HUGE keychain, I couldn’t lose them. I mean, seriously. HOW can you lose this set of keys? How can they not remain in plain sight wherever I leave them?

I have tried to blame a lot of things: stress (probably a factor), my busy schedule (possibly, at times, also a factor) and then, when I am desperate, I blame our dog Bear, or some other innocent bystander, including my husband. This usually draws the reaction of a raised eyebrow from Shea, and maybe the reminder that at NO time since we have been together have my lost keys been anyone’s fault but my own. This reminds me to shut up and keep searching, because as I am honestly aware, this is my issue.

I have also occasionally run out of gas. However, this hasn’t been as frequent, at least within the last 6 months. So, I am going to write that one off to issues we DID have with the gas gauge, and the fact that the majority of those occurrences took place while I was working and trying to plan our wedding simultaneously. You can blame a lot of things on the stress of planning a wedding, it comes in handy, people actually do sympathize if they have done it before. I have done a much better job of monitoring the gas level in the car after the third time my husband had to pick me up, stranded by the road, with one of the many gas cans he had to buy in preparation for these occurrences. But, like I said, the last time that happened was over six months ago.

So, if you are thinking, wow, her husband is AWESOME and patient and wonderful, you would be right. Most of the time. But he was all of those things last night when I topped my own record of absent-minded activities.

We were both a little excited that our favorite breakfast restaurant was hosting a pancake supper to benefit a local charity. We were also happy to be able to see Shea’s cousin and her boyfriend and get to visit and chat with them, which we don’t get to do enough. So, we headed to the restaurant, arrived and parked, walked inside, and were immediately seated and enjoying the conversation and pancakes. I should probably mention here (in my own defense) that I was having a migraine last night, but I was determined to power through dinner.

So, after dinner, we walked out of the restaurant, and I had difficulty locating my keys. This is not an unfamiliar occurrence, so everyone was giggling a little as I dug through my purse. My husband was shaking his head, and without any prompting, went back in the restaurant to look for my missing keys at our table. He came back empty handed.

I knew that the keys weren’t in my purse, and that sinking feeling in my stomach hit. I knew that I had locked the keys in the car. Shea shot me a sideways glance as he led the way to the parking lot. He was walking a little ahead of me, and in a somewhat irritated voice said, “Honey, you left the lights on!” I cringed. Then, he stopped in his tracks. I am not sure I will ever forget the look on his face at that moment- a combination of horror, shock, anger, and amusement. I was standing a few feet away in the parking lot, Shea was beside the car. “Honey,” he said, “THE CAR IS RUNNING!” Everyone got quiet for a second. I honestly shocked myself with this one. When we had arrived, Shea had gotten out of the car and walked ahead, waiting for me closer to the edge of the parking lot. (It sometimes takes me a few moments to get my things and get out of the car). I had followed behind him, locking the apparently running car with the lights on, behind me.

Again, in my defense, I was battling a migraine that I didn’t want to keep us from one more event (this happens more often than I would like). AND, I have some family stuff going on that is worrying me these days. But, to be honest, I battle migraines two or three times a week, and there is ALWAYS something going on that is worrying me.

To make the rest of the long story short, there were two police officers who were also enjoying the pancake supper (at least before I came back in the restaurant and begged for their help). They tried to help us get into the car, with no luck. They were so incredibly kind and stayed with me in the parking lot while my husband was driven by one of our dinner companions to our house, where he was able to break in through a window and get the spare keys and come back to remedy the situation.

The policemen were kind and funny and enjoyed giving me a little grief while we waited for my husband to return.

So, it all turned out fine. This is just a little snippet of life with me.

I once mentioned to my husband that perhaps there was an upside to all of this phone and key losing nonsense. Perhaps there was some award I could receive for the sheer number of times this sort of thing happened. My husband, without hesitation, looked at me and said. “Honey, you would then lose the award”.

…sigh.

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Worth this Love

Several months ago, I entered an essay contest. I found out about it close to the deadline, but I felt good about my entry. I know thousands of people also felt good about theirs. The winners have not been formally announced, but they have been notified.

So, I didn't win, but thought I would share my entry anyway. One really good thing about contests and submissions, no matter the outcome, it gets me writing and makes me finish things. All good. The subject of the essay was this: When did you first understand the meaning of love? Maybe you were a child, witnessing a generous act by your father or mother. Maybe the lesson came later, as you grappled with the challenges of being a friend, a spouse, or a parent yourself. Whatever made you understand love—and yourself—better, tell us about it.

As I always do in the aftermath, I see a million things I could have done differently now, maybe made it better or different...but it is what it is. I feel like I write a lot on this blog about my husband and my joy in finding love when I had given up. I always share my story, not to brag or gloat, but to hopefully give someone out there hope. I lived a long time without it, and that is a very hard and lonely place to be. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

So, here is my essay, and my dose of hope out there to anyone who needs it.

Worth This Love

I thought I had found it one hundred times before. It was the whisper of my mother’s voice in her moments of denial. It was my father’s brief flashes of noticing me in his clouded mind. It was the boy I loved who reminded me so much…of him. The one who came after and the next, all the same pain—just in a different package. Each time I quaked with relief—finally, I have found it. Finally, I know love. And then, the bottom would fall out. My mother would retreat to her cocoon, my father would lose sight of me, the boys, one after the other, would suddenly become clear to me as false, no longer shadows of pain, but vibrant in their own colors of deceit, betrayal, and abuse.

Each time I felt more alone in the aftermath, farther away from love than before, and I slowly saw my faith in its existence erode. Maybe it was all a fairytale. Fiction. Or maybe I wasn’t good enough. Maybe the problem was with me.

I remember so well the day I gave up. Sitting in my apartment I told myself what I believed to be my destiny: I would always be alone. It seemed out of control—beyond my ability to change. Each attempt at love pulled me deeper into a pit that was so hard to crawl out of. It seemed simple: leave the pit behind, face the facts, go it alone. Forget the childhood that didn’t make sense, the alcoholic father and lost mother, stop trying to be the light of someone’s life when my bulb had obviously burned out. Find a way to make a living supporting myself and hopefully needing no one.
 

And that’s just what I did. Something changed in me that day. My career took off as I focused on nothing else. Moving up the corporate ladder, I felt the pit not only far behind me, but filled. I no longer felt in danger of slipping, falling, hitting bottom and trying to crawl out. The ground behind me was solid. I chattered with girlfriends about longing for love, wishing for dates, but I knew I was just painting a picture of normal for them. I invested no hope for a first kiss, love at first sight, or even a comfortable arrangement. I wasn’t playing it safe. I truly believed I was too flawed to participate. Too imperfect, too damaged, too broken to be worthy of love at all.
 

I crisscrossed the country on business trips, gathering compliments, raises in salary without asking, recommendations, and glowing reviews. It was the air I breathed. Each new company event I created was my first date, my relationship, my happiness. I was at the top of my game, making more money than I could have ever imagined. I would stare at my paycheck—every paycheck-- in disbelief. Staring back at me was my worth. More than I had ever been worth before.

And I cried myself to sleep every night. For years and years and years.

The cracks came when the economy tumbled. There were thousands of people just like me—with the glowing reviews, the ability, a successful track record. Jobs were cut, layoffs became commonplace. There weren’t enough jobs even for the best and the brightest. I was unemployed. No large paycheck. No worth.

Everything came crashing down. Friends were concerned. My phone went unanswered. Why keep it connected? Unemployment scarcely paid any of my bills. I awoke to eviction notices taped to my door. Large bold letters telling the world what I had known all along.

The pit opened up again—this time so fast and with such force that I was almost swallowed whole.

The therapist’s couch seemed a farce in the beginning. A place to sit and hear the endless excuses for my failure, to be told all that I wasn’t. I sat staring for the first visits. Refusing to talk, in a standoff with the supposed professional across the room. I had given up. I didn’t need to be saved. I wasn’t worth being saved.

After a few visits, silence turned to tears, words rose from pain I hadn’t let through. I didn’t want to go back, but there I was, dealing with everything that had brought me here. For the first time saying the words. For the first time hearing it was not my fault. For the first time, beginning to believe it.

I had lost everything. That was when I found myself.

My therapist stayed two steps ahead and lit the path for me. My path. The path back to a life without fearing an unannounced sink hole. A life of believing that I had value, I had worth, I was more than the sum of my mistakes, more than the pain I had suffered.

It was a slow, steady climb. Some days were brighter than others. Some days the therapist’s couch was the only place I felt safe.
 

The world was different to me now. I looked again at my paycheck in disbelief, this time questioning how I could survive on so little. My life was scraped together, but whole. My life was my own, not a company’s and not dependent on the next glowing review. Work was work. Home was home. The presence of my dog Bear, a new addition, who never would have fit into my career-based life before, was a comfort. A true to my heart, not laced with guilt, comfort.

My friendships were deeper, richer, more authentic. I was almost someone they had never met, with the comfort of years of shared memories, middle school photos, and bridesmaid’s gowns. I had time to be the friend I always wanted to be, and to truly know the joy of returned phone calls and emails—not checking on me, not asking when I would ever be in town, not just a required note on my birthday. Real engagement in my life, and renewing bonds that thankfully outlasted my descent.

One friend suggested a date. Someone we both knew. Someone we had grown up with. Faint memories of junior high classes, passing in the halls. No flicker of romance then, barely an acquaintance. Definitely not the stuff of chick flicks or fairy tales.

Even more the reason to go. No real chance of anything. Just a date- maybe a new friendship. Maybe nothing. Probably nothing.

The night was normal and electric. Unfamiliar and personal. Unlike any other date or wish or figment of my imagination from my past. Nothing fiery or predestined. Just a night.

Then another night, followed by more. What I thought I had found one hundred times before, in another lifetime, when I felt I wasn’t worthy or deserving…was becoming real. I was 40 years old. I had never married, never been close, never thought it could happen. Even now, wasn’t it too late?

This love wasn’t something I created; it wasn’t something I tried to be for someone else. It wasn’t the conjured moments of something I wanted so badly. He didn’t remind me of him…at all. It wasn’t the same pain. It wasn’t a perfect Hollywood set up. It just was.

I slipped into a level of comfort I had never known. Not for one moment of my life before this love was I ever completely myself. How sad, but how beautiful at the same time. I felt myself trusting completely for the first time, knowing the freedom that is saying I love you, and knowing the words returned have meaning and are not just spoken.

My husband Shea was my classmate in 7^th grade, sitting half of the alphabet away from me in Language Arts class. He is the person who taught me the meaning of love, its definition in strained moments, its beauty in trusting the unknown. He is the person who makes me laugh until I am gasping for air, who knows the secrets of my childhood and my innocent wishes for unattainable dreams. He knows the emotions behind my indiscernible facial expressions—and when a smile is masking a painful memory. He has given me a new definition of love, far away from how I had defined it before. It is knowing there is a tomorrow, brighter than the present day- even with whatever struggles we face. It is a life without the fear of betrayal, the truth always between us, and the belief that the most flawed parts and quirks I posses are endlessly endearing. This love is not regretting one moment of the life behind me because it led me here, to this place, this instant, to this dance of life I am living that never leaves one second taken for granted. Something I tried for so long to define has been explained, written for me, given to me as a gift at the age of 40.
I have found my worth, I have found my value.
I have finally found love.

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I Carry Your Heart (I Carry it in My Heart)

 

Two years ago today, I went on a date. I had no idea then that it would be THE date. The first date. The last person I would date. With the man I would marry. 

We knew each other growing up, went to the same junior high and high school, but lost touch after receiving our diplomas and tossing our caps. We were photos in the yearbook to each other, and a few shared memories.

We reconnected 21 years later, through the magic of Facebook, and more than a little nudging from my best friend, who also happened to be my husband’s prom date at one time. (Their one and only date).

I probably knew around the third date that he was the one. But, I also knew my history, my luck with love- or rather lack of—so I held my breath and waited for something to go wrong. It didn’t.

We were married a year ago today.

Love stories happen every day, all the time, magical stories of all kinds taking shape and ending with cake and frosting, a white dress and vows. Sometimes, it all begins to seem commonplace or even expected.

I am not saying our love is any more special than anyone else’s, and although our story is unique and I think romantic, there are a thousand more out there like it, or even more beautiful in their histories, their struggles, or what they have survived or overcome for love.

But what I can say for certain, without pause, and with all my heart is that we are lucky. Lucky to have connected after so many years, lucky to be so well matched, lucky to know that we both are in this for the long haul. Lucky to have found each other in a world that can be harder than it should be, and less like a fairy tale with each passing year. Life is hard, life is uncertain, and the pain and dreadfulness that people go through, survive, or sometimes perish from can make me weak in the knees to witness.

I had my own journey before meeting my husband Shea, and he had his. We both endured our share of pain, loneliness, and longing. We both readily agree that it was worth it—however trying, however painful—so long as we ended up here. I had given up on so much watching the world wiz by, thinking that I wasn’t destined for some of the better parts of it. But, here I am today, lucky in love. And I know it doesn’t happen for everyone, and I know there are no guarantees. I know that being single and wanting it can be one of the loneliest places in the world.

So tonight, as we slice into our wedding cake – the small top layer we have preserved in the freezer to share a piece each year on our anniversary- I will say thank you  to the universe, to fate, to Facebook, and my best friend Kim Linville, for making this happen. I will say a thank you in my heart for Shea’s heart, which is so giving and compassionate, and which beats in time to mine. 

I will close by sharing a poem that my dear friend Judith read for us at our wedding. It is one of my favorites, and I love that it was a part of our ceremony.

i carry your heart with me

by e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
                                  i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 

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Finding Home

Over the past few weeks, my husband and I have had to navigate more than a few twists and turns. He has started a new job- a new career path- and I am so proud as I watch him work outside of his comfort zones and find success, one step at a time. That is never easy at any age or stage in life.

We have been preparing for a move into a new place that we have been so excited about. When we first moved to the beach area where we live, we were in a mad rush. I had just gotten a new job and we literally had only a few days to find somewhere to live. We were so lucky to find a place close to my office, and only a few blocks from the beach—and also within our budget. To top it all off, the place was furnished (one of the benefits of moving to a vacation area). We signed the year lease and moved in and started a life here.

Within six months of moving here last year, we were married in a small local church with all of our family and friends. After the ceremony and reception, we went with our photographers to a quiet area of the beach for some photos by the ocean. It was November 13^th and the day was spectacular. It was 70 degrees out and I didn’t see a cloud in the sky all day. That was unusual even for this area—and there wasn’t another day like it that fall. We both felt there was something magical and perfect about that day, and that we were meant to be together, and be married right then, right there, in that moment.

Then, last week, I got laid off from my job. We have had a few little bumps here and the days leading up to that, and I think both of us wondered if our luck was changing. Just a week before I found out I was getting laid off, we had bought some furniture for our new place (which is unfurnished), and recently had to buy a car, so our finances already felt tight. For a few days we both discussed quietly what we had to do to make things work, and what changes we needed to make.

We knew we needed to go forward with the move, and we had already signed one lease and ended the previous one. We had to have furniture, and had a ridiculously long time to pay off what we had purchased, without finance charges or fees. We made excel spreadsheets and budget plans. I have been down this road a few more times than my husband, and have been in some seriously dire financial straits. Even though you can’t help but worry, I have learned that these situations can cause you to sink—not feeling like getting out of bed or facing the world—and that is the last place you need to be when money is tight.

After a few days, we shook ourselves out of the funk we were in and rolled forward—giving thanks for what we DO have—that we can eat and pay the bills—and most of all- we can make each other laugh. I am so thankful for that part of our relationship. We laugh so much—even in tough times. We know each other’s funny bones so well, and there are times I almost can’t breathe when Shea says something too witty at just the right moment. There is a saving grace in that kind of laughter, a kind of safety net for when things seem too dark or serious.

So today, I stayed home and waited for the delivery of our furniture. I had a million thoughts in my head, thinking of where we are right now money-wise, and how excited I was to see how our place would look filled with the pieces we had chosen. The delivery men carted our living room pieces up flights of stairs and unwrapped each piece. Our bedroom furniture fit into the room as if I had planned and measured carefully (which I had not).

Gathering up the plastic wrap and moving blankets, the movers left and I walked back upstairs. I stood in my living room and took it all in. To me, this was not just furniture. This was a home I had been waiting for thirty-some odd years. This was the start of a life I had dreamed of for so long, and had given up on having a long time ago.

As dramatic and sappy as it sounds, I stood in this room, quiet with only the whir of the ceiling fan in the background. I closed my eyes and let a thousand scenes play in my head. I remembered walking to the end of the dirt road we lived on when I was 10 years old and staring into the field that spread out beyond our neighborhood. I remembered wishing out loud to just be on my way in the world and find to find love and hope and a good, happy life.

I remembered moments with my father that made me stop believing in myself—moments I wish I could forget.

I remembered nights during my college years, feeling like I was slipping into an abyss that would engulf me—out in the world on my own for the first time and having no family or support to tether me and wanting more than anything to feel better, feel happy, feel loved.

I remembered stupid choices, failed ventures, lost love, and battling depression for the better part of my life. I remembered finding a therapist who finally saw the truth behind everything and lit a path for me to follow and find my way back to the living.

Most of all, I remembered sitting in a parking lot in California over three years ago. A mixture of a toxic work environment, a huge heartbreak and betrayal and ongoing, painful family issues had overwhelmed me. I was out there by myself and had just had the final blow hit me. I remembered how absolutely alone I felt in the world and how hopeless. I remember vividly that I did not want to be here, there, or anywhere anymore.

More than anything, I remembered how much I believed, with all of my heart and soul, that things would not get any better.

And then, I opened my eyes in my home, our home. I looked around at the beautiful furniture, and the life we are building. And despite money worries, work stress, life changes and everything else, I am so grateful. So grateful, that somehow I made it through, that somehow Shea and I found each other and that somehow, today I can’t imagine being anywhere else but here.

The money will work itself out. We have everything we need.

The fabric collage featured here "My Home, My Heart" is by Marty Mason. Click here to see more of her beautiful work.

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