When my husband and I first met, we thought that we were SO MUCH alike. I can still remember sitting on my bed with him discussing how we wanted to die.
He says: I’d like to run into the road to push a child out of the way of a moving bus, saving him before the bus crushed me.
A huge chill goes through me. I can hardly move. THAT IS EXACTLY HOW I WANT TO GO!
I can still recall that shock of recognition. And I little voice inside: He may be my person.
We all have a person. Someone who gets us. Those little ways we tick and jump and live. I don’t always think our person is the someone we marry. Sometimes it’s a friend or a child or a teacher. Whoever SEES us for who we are. And love us for who he sees.
Our courtship is wonderful and angst-y like two 14-year-olds trapped in 24-year-old bodies. I cry every Tuesday for our entire dating career. Why? I have no idea. But I am like clockwork. Then again Scott gets grumpy every Friday. I remember calling him one Friday night only to find out that he’s sitting under a tree in the dark on the University of Virginia campus. I get in the car and pick him up. I give him back the hug that he gave me on Tuesday. I love him so much more.
We grow. We discuss God and religion. I tell him that I have this relationship with God that has nothing to do with religion. God is OUTSIDE CHURCH, too. He tells me that he just found God in the Bible. In Romans. And GOD ISN’T MEAN. We are both surprised.
I challenge his judgements on sex and abortion. He challenges mine on medicine and Christianity. And we eventually agree. We rarely fight. WE ARE IN LOVE!
And although it’s not surprising that we might fall in love with each other because it’s like falling in love with ourselves, we are not the same person. Over the days and months and years, we see each other for who we are and not just reflections of ourselves. He likes Pedro the Lion and Seven Mary Three and I like Pink Floyd and The Pharcyde. He dresses preppy with a touch of punk. I dress NOT-WITHIN-TEN-MILES-OF-PREPPY with a touch of hippie. He picks up the floor. I step over the toys. He didn’t know his mom’s birthday. I send birthday cards to every friend and family member. He bathes daily. I remember to bath the kids because I put a reminder IN MY PHONE. He eats ramen noodles. I want sushi.
And this month when I walk past the sink, I holler: SCOTT!
Scott walks over to me: What’s up?
I point to the sink: Look! It’s us!
At least my side is nicely stacked.
Hosted by Cecily and Caitlin