It’s been a long time since I sat down to write here, and for that, I apologize. This started a little over a year ago now and even now when I sit down to recall and relive the moments that prompted this mission, I feel the air catch in my lungs. I still remember the words on the screen, the panic as everything went black and I realize that I have got to get myself under control. I hear the panic in my voice as I scream “NO!” as my fingers begin struggling to push the buttons to reply, to call, to plead that this was a lie, a bad joke.
The day we thought would break us, turned out to be the day that saved us, though neither of us would know that then. We wouldn’t know that for a while. The words I would fill this screen with would be the words that started the healing and the bonding intimacy for us. They would open the flood gates of real communication. We may have shared a week of questions and tears believing we had started something incredible, but truthfully, in hindsight, while that week will be one I treasure as long as I am able to maintain my memories, that was a puddle. We have since spent a 72 hour whirl of emotions, almost non-stop 72 hours, engaged in a similar session of Q&A, opening doors to secrets we thought would never see the light of day again. We discovered our greatest adventures, and embarked on our most intimate of journeys.
Who knew a text that created such devastation would also be the one that woke me up? Who knew listening to that little voice saying, “Write it down; hold on to me and don’t let go,” would lead us to this place? Right here. You and I.
Great Loves
I have heard tales of great loves, but I can’t recall ever knowing one. I guess maybe I had seen glimpses of them and wished to find that. You know what I mean. The elderly couple in the corner booth, sharing a bench instead of sitting opposite one another. They are holding hands and still sharing their dessert, with a single spoon. Or that couple celebrating their anniversary as he tells the whole restaurant he’s taking his girlfriend out to dinner to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary. He jokes with the waiter to keep the lights dim so she doesn’t see how much older he’s gotten while she has stayed as young and breathtakingly beautiful as the day he met her. He pulls out her chair and kisses her hand as he helps her sit down. You know the ones I am talking about. They made you hopeful that love does exist and not every marriage is fighting and ugly. They inspire you to believe that not every blissful and promising union ends in shattered emotions and bitter divorce.
I don’t know one of those. My paternal grandparents lived in a HUGE house. That’s as close as I ever saw them, sharing a roof. They didn’t share a bed or even a room. They didn’t even reside on the same floor. They shared a dinner table, but never sat beside one another. The table was round and sat way more than the two of them. They didn’t attend the same church or share the same interests. They didn’t vacation together or take walks hand in hand, much less together. They would come and visit us, sitting on separate couches. I don’t recall ever seeing them kiss, much less touch.
My maternal grandparents at least shared a bed. He would call her beautiful, and I did see him kiss her, but their marriage was full of dirty secrets. My grandpa was not a good man. I don’t know how much of his life was truly a secret to those who shared his blood, but I know enough to know that his marriage was not one I ever seek to be a part of for myself. I won’t air dirty laundry, but he was not a good man.
My parents were the picture of domestic violence. My mother was cruel and very physical, with my dad and her children. She says that my brother and I would play “Honey” as kids instead of house because she and my dad always called each other that, but I can’t remember those days. I remember the constant fighting, the slamming doors, broken windows, squealing tires, and her late night calls on the phone when my dad was away. I remember things my siblings would rather I never tell because they like the rose colored glasses they wear. I lost those a long time ago, 17 years ago to be exact. I lost them the day I found out she was in bed with the guy I thought was my boyfriend of over a year. I didn’t stay to ask questions.
So no… I never thought I would find myself in one of those love stories. I found myself in several toxic relationships; after all, you chase what feels like home, right? I wound up married to male version of my mother, on steroids. I was wrong from the beginning and I knew that, but ….
You and I
So how does one come from so much brokenness and wind up here? It started before that text, and we both know that. We had 15 months invested into each other before those words were ever sent across the country. We had spent too much time building each other up, holding on to one another through some really difficult life moments. We were real. Yet sitting here, looking back, what we thought we shared was … drops in the bucket. We were both hiding secrets of pain and destruction. We were holding ourselves together with bubblegum and luck. How could those two people really survive at life?
A year, starting the way ours did, should have destroyed us. It would have devastated relationships and left a gap wider than the miles between them. You and I have a different story though. Somehow, though we are physically farther apart than we had ever been, we have drawn closer than ever. We have created a security blanket of intimacy, holding us together no matter the distance between us.
Those words, saying you were already gone. One lie. You were going someplace different and had kept that secret for weeks. Two lies. I needed to let go and find someone better. Three lies. Before I continue, I need to make it clear that I am not writing these words to express anger or heartache. I assure you that there is none of that here. I write these words because they are a very important part of our story. Had we not lived that September evening, there would not be the love story there is today. I write them to show the power of God in all of this, the strength of His grace and the incredible intimacy He has allowed you and I to share. So yes, I write to share the strength of His grace and the power of forgiveness.
God told me to hold on, to trust in him.
Darling, I thank God that He brought you into my life almost 4 years ago. (It feels strange to type “4.” I can’t remember not having you to run to. I can’t remember you not being my best friend, knowing my every secret, my every thought, my every fear, and every dream.) I can’t wait to see what our future holds. As incredible as our story has been so far, I know it’s only going to get better. Thank you for letting me share this adventure, beside you.
Eternally,
Your Belle
P.S. – With this, I am calling an end to our “A year of….” and beginning “A life of….” – as long as you will let me write you love letters here, heal my heart here, and tell our story, through the words of Belle to her Beast. The most incredible beast I have ever met. xoxoxo
ILYMTCCCD 