Posts Tagged ‘memories’

I wrote the following narrative essay for my English Composition class. It was written in MLA format. I have received a lot of really great feedback, both professional and personal, on this piece, and so I wanted to share it here as well.

If it wasn’t already implied, I feel the need to express that nothing I write is seeking sympathy or pity, but simply understanding. I have since discovered that it makes my trials less daunting when I can affect and even help others with my experiences, or open eyes to the struggle of some among them. I share to do just that. If any who have been through some of the same trials as I read anything I write, it is my hope that they should draw solace from the fact that they are not alone, that they are not judged, and that I do stand by them, whether we know each other or not. I want to be a voice of support and kindness in the uglier parts of the world, because some folks trapped in those places are the ones who need it the most.

****************************

There are so many theories as to whether innocence is an element of human biology, or whether it is something of a fluke. Some believe children are born with it, and gradually, as the world gets them in its grips, they lose it. I do not believe we all completely lose our innocence. I believe we have an inherent capacity to maintain some amount of it, proportional to the amount of imagination and wonder we allow ourselves. Like everything else, I believe there are also exceptions to that rule.

I was born in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma in the spring of 1987. I would be lying if I said I could tell you much about that time. I was raised by a Canadian mother and an American father, in a fairly well rounded home. We were not without our happy level of dysfunction as any family is, but for the most part, it was unremarkable. I am privileged in that I hold dual citizenship. I can (and have) worked in both countries, and have grown a great deal as a person in both countries, as well. I moved to Texas in late spring of 2012 in pursuit of a fairy tale. The man I call my husband now, is one of my oldest friends. I knew him on-line at the tender age of twelve. He was my safe place, my confidante, my best friend. I recall I would hurry home after school, eager to chat with him. Once high speed internet became the norm, he would leave his webcam streaming for me, even while he was at work. He kept a salt-water fish tank, and I loved to look at it while I did my homework. The tank and the creatures who resided in it were so bright, so vivid – it is really a miracle I ever got any schoolwork done.

Time passed as it always does, and we grew apart, as people often do. He was four years older than me, and so we were at different stages in our development. We fell out of touch, going our separate ways to make our separate mistakes and to learn our separate lessons. I would not learn the extent of those lessons until February of 2012. He crawled out of the woodwork, creating a profile on Facebook and adding me. It was an easy reconnection, as if we had never parted in the first place. I caught him up on my life since our last interaction, and he broke my heart catching me up on his. He had been incarcerated for nearly six years. He had just been released a week or two prior to making contact with me. I was stunned. In my youth, I had no idea that he was wrapped up in the ugly underbelly of the world. I had no idea he had fallen in behind his father and submitted to the siren call of drugs. He had gone out of his way to keep those elements of his life from me. It pained me to learn all of these things, but it also steeled my resolve. As a child, I did not have the independence and means to book a flight. At twenty four, however, I did. I flew into DFW the third week in March of 2012. I marveled at the weather. Canadian winters are often still going strong, well into the calendar spring. Texas boasted fair weather, if a little muddy. The grass was already becoming lush and green. It was a far cry from the blinding, desolate, winter wasteland I had flown out of mere hours before.

As all good things often do, my trip passed far too quickly. I was state side for twelve days. The time inevitably came for me to return home. We had decided between ourselves that it would be temporary. We were not quite sure what this was between us, but we were both determined to see it through. I would return home on April 1st, 2012, for the last time. Six weeks later, in the early morning hours of May 16th, 2012, I would load up my car, and I would depart Canada as a resident for the last time. I was terrified, not because I was unsure of where I was going, but because I have never been adventurous. It took 28 hours of driving and a lot of coffee, but I made the 1600 mile drive from end to end of the continental United States of America. I arrived in Sherman, Texas, mid-day on May 17th, 2012. I felt a sense of accomplishment, the likes of which I had never known. I made it. Life was great for the first year. I found work, we found our niche, and we thrived. We were closer than ever.

In the spring of 2013, the tone changed. I was so naïve. I did not know the signs. I did not fully understand my husband’s addiction until it was too late. He was out of control, and there was nothing I could do to alter the subsequent chain of events. He was arrested May 7th, 2013. For a long time I felt guilty for the sense of relief that I felt at knowing where he was, and that he was safe. I truly believe to this day, had he not been taken into custody at that time, he would not be alive today. The ‘drugs are bad’ theme is not the element of innocence lost I referred to earlier though. Less than eight weeks after he was arrested, one of the unsavory people my husband associated with would completely destroy my world as I knew it. Sure, my reality was pretty chaotic already. It was nothing compared to the days following the Fourth of July.

This man took me, took my car, took my money, and all but took my life. I was held against my will for four long, excruciating days. I was denied sleep, and I was sexually and physically assaulted. I was kept off the grid and far away from the people I loved, and the people who loved me. My husband was in county jail and could not come find me. I was not sure I was ever going to see him, or anyone, ever again.

Those days taught me anger. They taught me the potential danger in being too trusting of anyone. They taught me of the extreme evils in this world. The hard truth is that I survived. While I am still working on putting all the pieces back together, I am for the most part, victorious. I will never know innocence again. As if my ordeal was not enough, it would take me seven more weeks and soliciting six different police agencies, to even successfully file a police report, despite the visible signs of abuse on my face and body. Eventually the District Attorney of the county that finally listened, subpoenaed me to testify before the Grand Jury. I was hopeful that maybe justice would finally be served. I learned a great many things about the law, primarily among which is that the law does not like to gamble. It prefers to bet on a sure thing. The DA’s office no billed the charges against my assailant, citing insufficient evidence to proceed to trial. Not only was Johnny Law not concerned with what happened to me, he was also okay with it. He was perfectly content to turn that animal loose.

We teach our children that policemen are there to protect us and to keep us safe. That is the moral of this story. That is the innocence I will never again possess. I am still a happy, pleasant person. I have aspirations and hopes and dreams. I have conquered many adversities over this last year, and I am not finished, yet. The future is bright, and it will be mine. I am no stranger to hard work. My husband will be home eventually, and maybe then this will all be no more than a bad dream. Until then, I am motivated by my anger. I am motivated by injustice not only to survive, but to continue to grow, to become more than I once was. Whatever curve balls life has in store for me, I am ready. I will adapt. I will survive. Bring it on.

Advertisements

It’s come to my attention throughout my journey of being shattered and then gradually putting my pieces back together and reintegrating into the world as it is that more people than not undergo struggles of this nature. Sure, the details vary widely but generally speaking, there is not a single person I know of that hasn’t endured an event that has forced them to completely adapt themselves or alter their thinking.
One of the prevalent themes in this seemingly universal phenomena is change. Change, in and of itself, can carry both negative and positive connotations, and some people are more adept at acclimating to it than others but generally speaking, I believe human beings are fundamentally creatures of habit. We thrive with structure. Positive, personal changes rarely occur outside of a carefully structured and applied plan. The negative changes are the ones that are more apt to blindside us when we absolutely don’t expect it. It is in those moments that our coping skills and sense of perseverance are tested.

I’ve been told by many that I am remarkable for what I have accomplished this last 18 months, and I suppose in some ways, that is true. At the same time though, it never really occurred to me that it could be any different. No, the things that befell me and events in my life were absolutely not planned… who has a continuity plan for that sort of thing, after all? No one I know. I guess where I differ from others is my adaptability. I was pretty accustomed to dealing with more mundane curve balls on a fairly regular basis. After all, that’s life. I had my moments throughout all of this where I felt completely crushed under the weight of it, and definitely at a loss of where to even begin to start rebuilding. I am fortunate in that I have amazing family and husband who love me unconditionally. Without their support, there’s not much telling where I would be today.

Those who know me will have heard me say on more than one occasion that perspective is everything. When a situation is less than desirable, some people are content to play the victim and ride that horse into the ground. I’m not one of those people. I couldn’t stand the way people looked at me with pity. I know rationally they meant no harm by it, that they truly regretted my situation and just didn’t know how to deal with it. But emotionally it killed me because every sympathetic stare and gasp seemed like it re-carved that title of Victim into my forehead. In hindsight maybe that’s where my motivation to be okay came from. I wanted to be seen as normal, or at the very least indifferently. I would take praise too.. just not pity.

That realization is what led me to structure one of those carefully laid plans of action to bring about change that I mentioned earlier. Achievement and accomplishment have never been foreign to me… I am no stranger to working for what I want. That realization was empowering. Sure, I started from lower than in my previous experience, but hey, the same formula was applicable.

I guess my overall point is this: change happens to all of us. It is normal to experience feelings that aren’t necessarily familiar as a result of whatever variables in your life have changed. It doesn’t have to be an ugly thing. Take the time to understand what you’re feeling and why. From there, you can establish a clinical perspective of your state of mind and then you’re just a few short steps away from formulating your plan of action to get from where you are to where you want to be. If I can do it, anyone can. Perspective is everything. Take control of yours.

image

I’ve got some time before my appointment and have been in my head a lot this weekend so I’ve got some more thoughts for that jar.

The foremost thought on my mind is accomplishment. I feel like I have a lot of little successes recently. I’m doing well in college, which means the world to me, not because I would feel like a failure otherwise but because it is another indicator that I’m not broken. I have struggled a lot with short-term memory issues in the wake of my assault last year. He caused a cortical contusion of the frontal lobe. He made my brain bleed. It was explained to me as shaken baby syndrome, just as an adult. The fact that I can still not only perform, but also perform well, in an academic setting is a huge victory for me. I am incredibly grateful for it.

The next big event… I attended Comic Con this past weekend. I was very apprehensive at first because I have a hard time even going to the grocery store. I experience high anxiety in public places, especially ones with open space and lots of people. I went to the Con with my cousins and felt little to no anxiety the whole day. It was amazing. I didn’t feel singled out or even the slightest bit threatened. That really bodes well for me. I don’t think I’m ready to try something similar by myself just yet, but it is most certainly a victory.

Aside from those happy things, I’ve spent more time thinking about my husband. I’ve been a little stressed lately as his parole hearing draws closer. I don’t sleep very well at all. If they grant him parole, he will go into federal custody and hopefully serve his 12-14 months in a facility MUCH closer to home. Furthermore, with the feds, he will actually have a set in stone release date. I’m beside myself just thinking about it. That in and of itself would make life exponentially sweeter. I would have a tangible date to look forward to, as well as a date with which I can really start putting effort into making arrangements for work when he comes home. I feel like it is a figurative light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. I long for it.

 

image

Ever since I’ve known him, he has had this uncanny ability to calm my anxiety. I was anxious before this nightmare started, but not when he was nearby. The prospect of him coming back home to me and restoring the sense of peace and security that left when he did is almost enough to bring me to tears. We have both more than paid his debt to society, in so many ways. Any prayers and affirmative wishes for the parole board’s decision are most certainly appreciated.

It’s funny how losing so much can make you realize how much it all means to you. I mean, I’m sure some turn bitter rather than grateful… I’m not bitter though. Not completely anyway. There are some elements of this nightmare that will very likely be an outrage until the day they put me in the ground. For the most part, though… I am grateful that he and I are alive, that we are sober, and that eventually we will get a shot at the future we dream of.

Silver linings are truly in everything. It just takes a keen and hopeful eye to see them. Take it from me: it’s worth it. Every last pain is worth the joy that comes from seeing the upsides and from holding onto the positive. I think that is really the only way to stay soft in a world designed to make us hard. If I could give just one piece of advice, that would be it. Stay soft. Seek the silver linings, despite how well hidden they seem to be.

 

You know, I think it’s kind of funny how a song, or a scent, or a movie/book title or cover, or really anything can spark a memory and take you so vividly back to a place and time long since past. It’s really an amazing phenomenon, how we create these associations with otherwise mundane things. It can be something positive or it can be awful. I’ve experienced both myself, but more so the latter in recent days. It’s referred to as a trigger in the negative context. It happened to me a few weeks ago when someone randomly squeezed off four shots on a Sunday night around midnight. My dogs stayed close by me and didn’t react how I would have expected them to. That was a long, restless night that led into a long, anxiety filled day. It was the absolute worst. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. My pulse kept quickening and dropping again for no apparent reason. It wasn’t a good day, but I survived. Today, on the other hand, I blessedly got to experience the flip side of this phenomenon. A song I hadn’t heard in ages came on, and it was a genre of music I’ve never followed adamantly myself. Before I even recognized the song, I was taken back to September of 2011, when I visited a dear friend outside of Houston, Texas. On our way home from the McDonald’s drive thru and that very song came on and he serenaded me; made me feel beautiful, made me feel wanted. There was always potential for us to have been great, but we were so different. We were at different places in our lives and it wasn’t meant to be. We parted on good terms, and I have nothing but fond memories of my time with him. I feel very fortunate that I can still experience these little gems of pure happiness from the past, since my more recent past is so polluted with ugly, awful things. It also helps reassure me that I’m not broken. The head injury I sustained has consistently altered the reliability of my short-term memory and it has been an obstacle in and of itself. My grey matter is still functioning though, and clearly is adamant about reminding me of that fact every now and then. (:

Here’s to the past. May it ever be a firm but nurturing teacher to prepare us for the future.

 

image

I like how it’s becoming a trend for me to arrive early to counseling and finding time to post here. How very fortuitous for me.

I’ve always known that I’m a hyper-emotional person. I feel my emotions in high def 1080p, both good and bad. I have long since accepted it for what it is and have adjusted accordingly. This last couple of weeks have brought my thoughts to this topic more than once though, in both positive and negative ways.

I suppose to begin with I was feeling pretty heavy last week because I hadn’t heard from my husband in a while and I was missing him, for many reasons. At the forefront of that was my ‘homework’ assignment from my counselor for last Thursday’s session (which ended up being canceled.) She asked me to write a letter to my assailant for her, to give her an opportunity to see into my feelings on the matter. She instructed me to wait until Wednesday evening or Thursday afternoon to write it, so that I wouldn’t have to suffer in the mindset all week long. This made sense to me because I have excellent coping skills in place. I don’t have time to fall apart, so the less time I spent on the thought process, the better. Unfortunately that is a good idea in theory only. The prospect of completing the task loomed over me basically the entire week. Just the idea of performing the task caused me a great deal more anxiety than I had anticipated. I was in a pretty somber mood all week long. Naturally, no mail from my husband, my best friend, my soulmate, definitely didn’t help matters.

Thursday afternoon, I dutifully put pen to paper on my lunch break and wrote the letter. I was a great deal angrier than I’d realized, and managed to scribble down three pages before I felt sufficiently vented. Within an hour or so before I was due to leave the office for my appointment, my counselor canceled. She offered to reschedule apologetically but being as busy as I am, I opted to wait until this Thursday, so I wouldn’t have to reshuffle my days. I strive to keep a very organized schedule. (Possibly yet another of my myriad of coping skills… control thing? I feel like I am very together when I have plans in place. Who knows?)

I left at the same time anyway, feeling pretty loaded down with the anger brought to the surface by the letter. I stewed in it some. I cleaned my home repeatedly, cooked as usual but opted to treat myself more than I usually would.. I have the mother of all sweet teeth. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I comfort eat… since moving to Texas, I’ve shed more than 100 lbs and am proud of that fact. I recognize the dangers of comfort eating in regards to keeping that weight off. I don’t deny myself little treats now and then though. I always found that I would eat more if I denied myself and then broke under the inward facing resentment. So I never deny myself. Anyway, I made it through the remainder of the week and got to visit my husband on Saturday. That was nice, but brought up a few unrelated stresses, which I promptly vented in inmate mail on Sunday. I learned on Saturday that he had written the letter I’d requested and put it in the mail Wednesday or Thursday and that it should be arriving any day now. I was hopeful it would be waiting for me when I got home Saturday – not so. That fouled my mood further. The letter I wrote Sunday definitely reflected the discontented nature of my mood.. it’s fortunate he knows me as well as he does. I’m sure it would be a great deal more distressing otherwise.

Well, here comes Monday… back to the grind and as stressful as work is sometimes, I’m still grateful for it. Performing my duties keeps me out of my head and keeps me busy. Time passes much more quickly and productively when I’m working. At quitting time on Monday, I hurry home, thinking the letter MUST be there today, surely. Not so. I almost fall apart this time. I cry for the first time in months. And really it’s silly. I just saw him Saturday. It’s really a very little thing. I’m so ate up by my mood and emotions though that it may as well be the end of the world.

I struggle through the work day Tuesday, in an awful mood and just generally displeased with the world. I head home at the end of the day and try not to be too hopeful about the letter, my reasoning being that if I don’t get my hopes up, I won’t be so upset if it isn’t there. Well apparently that worked. There was my inmate mail waiting for me when I got home. I was elated.. almost walking on sunshine. Scrawled across the front of the envelope in an unfamiliar hand was a note that said it had been delivered to the wrong address and to please redeliver. Now in my mood the previous week, I would have been all hellfire and brimstone over the screw up by the postman, as naturally I checked the address and my husband hadn’t erred. But instead all I felt was an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the accidental recipient of my letter for taking the time to write this and then put it back into the mail. I’d probably hug this person if I knew who they were.

Isn’t it funny how such little things can mean everything? That little gesture of selflessness by the hand of a stranger helped to completely alleviate my funk. Don’t get me wrong… my anger and general stress brought on by various aspects of life is still here. I still carry it. But it’s not a defining factor in who I am right now. It’s just something I do… not who I am. Moments like these where I am in tune with these little gems also make me feel like I really have it together. If that makes me crazy, so be it. I’m crazy. I’ll graciously accept that title and many others provided I keep getting to (and more importantly, remembering to) celebrate these little victories.

image

Rewind now, ohhh 13 years.

I’m a 12 year-old child, only just coming into my love for video games and technology. It’s the time of the 56k modems and, fortunately, I hadn’t yet developed my fixation on MMOs (thanks for that, by the way, Blizzard.)

There is turbulence in my home. A lot is going on that I don’t understand, but I know that my parents are at odds.

A lot of things transpired but that’s not what this story is about. What matters is this: so many people dismiss the problems of a child as insignificant. I was struggling with a lot, because I hadn’t altogether developed coping skills yet. I was an angry tween. Most just concluded I was just acting out.

The Internet became my retreat. No one judged me or dismissed me there. I had real friends online, even if I had never met them face-to-face. I frequented several chat rooms as well as online games. These were my safe places.

In one such chat room, I met a Dragon. He was always kind to me, and listened to my stressors. He never dismissed my issues as insignificant. He was never rude or untoward, and I naturally clung to him for dear life.

The highlight of my days was coming home from school to see if he was online. Eventually, once we moved into the time of cable internet, he would leave his webcam on even if he was at work, so that I could look at his fish tank while I did my home work. I had pictures of my Dragon in my locker in school. I was beyond infatuated with him, all because he was kind to me, patient with me. He was a dose of stability in an otherwise tumultuous existence.

He had helped me cope with the most trying events in my life to date and that’s what I remember most when I think about those times and about him. As time passed, we both got older of course and life happened. He moved to the city and I was a teenage girl, making my own fair share of mistakes and learning life lessons. I had assumed that he had settled down and had moved on with his life. I held no hard feelings. In my mind, he had given me the gift of my life. There was no tainting that.

I went through my fair share of long-term relationships. I skipped the dating game and just committed to each as they came along, then cut and run when the nose dive became inevitable.

In March of 2011, I broke off the last of those doomed relationships. It was at that point that I realized I had spent virtually my entire post-puberty life as part of a pair and didn’t really know how to function as just me. So I plunged into the dating game, determined to learn how to not only exist, but also to function & thrive as a single, solitary unit. I spent some time with a friend I had met on WoW near Houston, TX. We were absolutely not at the same place in our lives though, so it would never be meant to be. Following that, I dated locally in the Ottawa area and met all kinds of interesting people. I was learning how to socialize. It was an invaluable period in my life.

Skip forward to February 2012. I recall that my father, sister & I were cruising around working on a photography school assignment for my niece. It was lots of fun! I was driving, so I didn’t pay a whole lot of mind to the Facebook notification I had received from someone by the same name as one of my bosses at work.

It wasn’t until much later that evening, seated at my desk at work, that I actually looked into my updates. I pulled up the profile, wondering why the boss man had created a duplicate profile, when it hit me. The location of this 2nd profile matched that of my Dragon. I was somewhere between shocked and elated. It had been years (a good 7 or 8) since I’d heard from him. I was awestruck; dumbfounded.

I added him and we got to talking. We discussed what had happened in the time since we had last been in touch. Turns out my theories had only been half right. He’d moved to the city and had settled somewhat with a girl, but the vast majority of those years had been spent in incarceration. He had gotten into some legal trouble over drugs. I was sad to hear it, and honestly a bit surprised since he had protected me from the darker side of his life the whole time I had known him.

It didn’t take long for me to decide I needed to visit him. I wanted to be supportive of him as he readjusted to life in the free world as he had been so supportive of me through the trials & tribulations of my youth.

I bought a plane ticket and flew into DFW in the third week of March. The time between making the decision and the actual trip seemed to crawl. But finally it had arrived!! I was an anxious ball of nerves for sure. I knew already how I had felt about him before, but had no expectations. I was making the trip as a friend and would not place undue pressure on him. That was not what he needed, after all.

He met me at the airport. If memory serves, I was wearing purple. He was wearing red & blue jeans. I was so shy but giddy as I could be.

After going through the motions & collecting my bags, I headed out the prearranged door. He was leaning right up against the railing just outside the door, so still and quiet that I walked right past him. He texted me and told me to turn around. I do & he’s shaking his head, laughing in a good natured manner. We are both a little shy but it isn’t an uncomfortable silence. He takes my luggage and leads the way to the car, where grandmother is waiting.

It was an hour or more drive back to the house. My Dragon & I sat in the back seat, chattering a little and… Holding hands. I felt like a grade school girl all over. I had dreamed of this all through my youth and finally, here I was with the man who, in his youth, had been a pillar of strength and kindness to a wayward little girl. It is my firm belief that I would have turned out much differently had it not been for him.

—-

I had made an opportunity to begin to repay the kindness that had been so pivotal in my life. I felt (and still feel) that I would never be able to repay it in full. How do you properly compensate someone who has granted you your life?

—-

I spent 12 days there. They were amazing. We talked a lot, and after some time, we loved a lot too. We just seemed to synchronize with one another. It was surreal how well we just… Clicked. I felt like he not only belonged in my life, but like he had always been there. I felt a sense of calm and ease that I had never before experienced. Those who know me understand how anxious I am, how prone to worry I am and just general high strung I am. It was like he stunted all of that. Like he muted or muffled it. His very presence created a sense of calm and general contentment the likes of which I had never known. I was acutely aware before much time passed that the feelings I’d had for him in my youth were not only still there, but were so much stronger following the life experiences between now and then.

I told him of my desire to move back south, to spend some quality time with this side of my family before I missed everything. My nieces & nephew, all of my father’s side of the family and of course my big sister, were all down here and I wanted life with them. I also (seemingly jokingly) informed him that, should I manage to make my way down here, that he’d best watch out, as I would most certainly chase him. He was laying on the bed on his back, hands laced together behind his head, when I shared this last bit of info with him. I was sitting cross-legged on his right side, next to his hip. He made a dramatic show of considering it for a log moment, grinned, and so informed me that he just *might* let me. I giggled, thanked him for his benevolence & leaned over to kiss him.

During my stay, I met most of his family and we spent some time on the family farm as well as helped paint his mother’s new home. Relatively normal affairs, and not particularly eventful, but it was good. It was true and it wad comfortable.

Towards the end of my trip, I attended the orientation for his federal probation with him. I became as well versed in the conditions of his freedom as he was. I remember when he had asked his PO (who, by the way, ran a background check on me prior to allowing me to visit) if I could attend, the man told him that it was really intended for someone a little more permanently affixed in the life of the parolee. My Dragon smiled and told him he hold I would be.

Like all good things, the end came too soon. April 2nd was the date of my return flight. Grandmother took us for lunch at The Cotton Patch. On our way out for lunch, Jeff clipped a perfect wild rose out of the garden & gave it to me.

 

image

Such a simple thing, and yet it was everything. I wore it behind my ear all day, until we arrived at the airport. He unloaded my luggage for me, and I bawled. I felt like I had only just got him back in my life. Leaving felt so unjust, so cruel.

After I arrived back home, I virtually had a phone glued to my ear. If we were both awake, we were on the phone. Period. He observed in that first week apart how profoundly silent it was without me there. I truly believe he missed me every bit as much as I missed him.

One day, during one of my morning rituals following a shift, I was cooking breakfast. My sister was working on homework and my Dragon, of course, was whispering in my ear. I don’t readily recall the topic of conversation, but it was light hearted. Context be damned, my Dragon told me “Well he may not know much, but he knows he sure loves you.” I paused, my jaw dropped & I swallowed the urge to giggle like a school girl. He was silent, like he had surprised himself as well. I asked him, in as level a voice as possible, to repeat himself. He refused of course, acting all embarrassed. I finally took mercy on him & shared the sentiment. I knew full well I had loved him since before I knew what love was. To hear him say the words to me… Oh, I was soaring so high with no descent in sight.

I knew then that I had to get back to him. The following few weeks were filled to the brim with overtime. I worked as much and as often as I could. The first week of May, I submitted my resignation notice. And of course, that brings us full circle back to May 15th, the day my whole life would change and the very purpose for my existence came within reach.

I knew love, and nothing would ever keep him from me again.

Or so I had believed, with every fiber of my being. I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.

There is no other comparison that can really do the last several trips around the moon in my life justice: were I not living it my own self, I would hardly believe it either. And to think, it has only been a year!

May 15th, 2012 7:01am EST

My resignation notice is officially effective. I am unemployed now for the first time in years. It’s a strange, surreal feeling, but not quite as scary as I’d have thought, since I had a plan. I’m always okay with a definitive plan of action.

I go home that morning, do a little packing and then go to sleep. after having worked all night, I was ready. I get up around 5-6pm and I pack some more. I pack all night, with the help of my little sister and my father, and shortly after midnight, the car is loaded and I say my final farewells and I hit the road. I fill the tank up before leaving town, then it is highway riding all the way. I drive. And I drive. And I drive. I don’t stop but to refuel and answer nature’s call, and even those I try to time together. Most of the drive I have a boy in my ear, murmuring sweet nothings to me. This is the man who would change everything. This is the man who gives me new and beautiful purpose. This is ‘mon raison d’etre.’

Around 5pm (CST now,) I finally stop. I’ve been driving for a while now and I’m tired. I get a room at an Econolodge somewhere in south Indiana. I chat with the boy a while and then hop off to lay down. I sleep until shortly after 1 am. I get up, shower and get back on the road and drive.

I try to call the boy but he must be asleep so I crank the tunes and cruise. I observe as I’m making my way through Missouri how dang bumpy it is. Up and down. This is where I am when the sun rises and it’s beautiful. I am feeling a sense of calm determination. I feel like my life is my own and I am taking the proverbial bull by the horns. It is empowering.

After a while, the boy calls me. He is groggy and not altogether awake. I laugh because I find it endearing. It takes me back 6 weeks, when I had visited to meet him & his family. I recalled waking up with him, before either of us were completely sure what this was between us. The memory of his sleepy eyes and content smile as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to wish me a good morning makes me want to drive faster. I’ve already been away from him for too long.

I drive and drive and drive. The whole trip is relatively uneventful. I briefly pass through the northwest corner of Arkansas and into Oklahoma. It’s fairly late morning by the time I approach the Texas border. The excitement is almost like electricity in me – almost tangible through every nerve in my body. The further south I drive on I-75, the more familiar my surroundings become. It is all I can do to respect the speed limit at this point. Everything I need in my life is mere minutes away and I can’t stand to wait.

I finally exit the highway and almost wail in despair at the red lights and stop signs through the neighborhood as I make my way along the path I traveled several times less than two months ago.

Shortly after lunch on May 17th, 2012, I finally turn onto my street.. my new street, and there he is, standing in the front yard. He is wearing light blue stone wash jeans and a crisp white t-shirt. I see my future and I can only barely manage to get the car in park before I fly out the door and into his arms. I almost take him down. He laughs, and he kisses me and life is perfect. Even for a brief moment, I know perfection, when he lays me down in the shop and loves me.

I am home.