I have kept sporadic journals my whole life. I still have most of them but all are unfinished and none of them are are dated. When I was younger I thought that dates were relative, that today was only one day in the vastness of life, a moment that would quickly disappear. In fact when I wrote about the night I met my husband; believe it or not, it was not about him at all. I wrote about his roommate who my ex broke up with me for. You see I didn't know my future was sitting in the living room when I dropped my new friend off. This is what I remember time frame wise (you know those people who remember every single detail about this and that down to the second? That is not me, in fact most things seem murky to me. A deep dark well that I lower a small bucket down into and bring up pieces of a memory. So forgive me my approximate timeline.) it was a dark chilly October night in 2000. I know it was before Halloween some time. Maybe a week or two before that, I am sure.
I wonder if this is where the story begins. Does it begin with the ex? Do you need to know that we were together for two years? Or that we were really just friends with benefits because this girl was a little emotionally disconnected? That I was only eighteen? I think maybe it does begin here. So my ex and I decided to try a relationship. It wasn't really working. We were friends and would never be any more then that, at least on my end. Turns out on his side too. He came to me at the end of the summer and told me he had met a girl. That he really liked her and wanted to try and make it work with her. I was stunned and felt rejected. Turns out the girl worked with my estranged mother, and my siblings were being rather rude to her about the whole thing. It wasn't her fault that he didn't love me, or even that he decided it was over between us. So I invited her to meet me for coffee at Shari's. I am from Oregon and Shari's is like Denny's, but better. I loved that place, but it has changed since I lived there. I guess that is what happens when you move away, things change.
So my journal entry starts here:
When I went to talk to S I was going with an open mind and heart. I got there early (I am naturally a nervous creature) and I started to panic. I mean, what was I doing? What in the world was I going to say to her? Then I started reasoning with myself, "I am going to make things right." I was terrified of what S might say. Then I was comforted by the fact that she was on time. We had a great conversation and we talked about everything. I found myself thinking I am glad it was her. I realized that I wasn't losing him, but that I was gaining a friend in both of them. (Here is some personal reflection about my state of mind at the time. I am going to share it with you because it shows how much I have grown. But it is difficult for me to see how broken I truly was. This part requires no comment. It is merely reflection.) I realized that I was no longer waiting for him to realize that I was nothing and leave. Also I realized what I am. Maybe I can begin to face myself and my mother. I am kind. I am wanted. I am glad I got to meet her. I am happy he found her.(Eleven years later I am still friends with S and I haven't seen him in ten years.)
After our meeting over coffee and conversation I gave S a ride home. When I went up to hang out with her a bit more I met the most important person in my life. He was sitting on their old beat up couch watching a marathon of the Godfather. He stood up when I walked in to say hello. He was wearing an old pair of blue jeans. I remember his blue eyes, blond hair, he was skinny and tall. I remember him, that sweet kid who got nervous when I was around. I think maybe he was the only person who was more nervous then me. The truth is he was only nervous because of me. I was never a nervous wreck around him. Not once. I was at peace when I was around him. This is an important fact that I didn't realize until almost a year after that first meeting.
Now that I look back on our chance meeting I can tell you that I believe in fate and destiny. I tried to fight it, and tried to make it take me down a very different road. Now that I am standing on this side I know I never had a chance. I am glad I lost some of those early battles because I love the life that boy and I have made together. I am looking forward to all the great adventures that are still to come.
Moral of the story is, love finds you when you are not expecting it. Also, I met my husband eleven years ago today, or maybe this week... Okay sometime this month, eleven years ago.
I hope your week is filled with sweet reflection, love, and laughter.
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