Coming of Age

On June 14 this year, I remembered that I had married my children’s father 38 years earlier.  And then, seven years later, spent 24 years celebrating my singledom from their father; our divorce was final on June 14.  My marriage to their father came full circle.  I remained single all those years because I never met anyone who could help me feel safe enough to care enough.  Abuse will do that.  I did have one lover who I allowed to break my heart repeatedly over a four-year period but I did eventually leave him.  

I vacillated between reveling in my singleness and feeling sad or frightened that I would never find a partner with whom I could grow old.  I adored dating and meeting men.  I adored flirting and playing and cavorting.  But deep down I wanted someone to sit on the porch of an evening watching the world go by as we sipped lemonade, rocking and reminiscing over days gone. 

Eleven years ago I met a man while chatting online.  He lived in Pittsburgh. We dated for a year–he would take a long weekend and fly out here or I would spend my summer back east.  I took a sabbatical in 1997 so we could spend real time together, to see if this was something real.  At first I didn’t give up all playing and cavorting…why lose good momentum?  But I soon came to realize that this man was someone very special.  Our second summer together he proposed to me as we lie in bed.  I said yes and promptly burst into tears.  No one had ever before proposed to me.  I had to come home to fulfill my sabbatical contract.  He soon sold his home and followed me out west.  And since he followed me home, I had to keep him.

Eight years ago today I married this wonderful man that some of you have named "Earl Gray."  Some of you were with me as I made the greatest most delightful commitment of my life.  Gattaca took photos as we said vows under the St. Johns Bridge.  Blather sent beautiful wine glasses that when put together made a heart.  No14Me/BBE sent the cleverest gifts, perfect for aging lovers.  Cards, letters, and well-wishers were our guests.

Eight years doesn’t seem like much as my parents celebrated years near 50 before my father died.  Earl Gray’s parents recently celebrated more years than that.  And yet eight years of loving and being loved has been a true blessing.  Oh we fight.  We are changing and some of those changed are difficult to take–aging isn’t for sissies. 

But I believe I have met my perfect match.  And it is heaven.

peace~~