Everything

EVERYTHING

I stood at the bottom of the staircase, shaking, awaiting the inevitable knock as my mind raced. Running on repeat was the memory of two months prior when Bryan leaned in, kissing me slowly.

It was a hot and humid August day in the south, and I could feel beads of sweat forming between my shoulder blades before they slowly snaked down my spine. My husband’s green bags were piled next to his boots on the cement outside the airport. Tears threatened to appear, but I pushed them aside as he stepped back to look me in the eyes. Reaching up, I adjusted the green beret on his head, telling him I loved him and to come home to me. He knew I was struggling to say goodbye, so he gently whispered that I would see him again soon before kneeling down to hug our two sons goodbye.

Six weeks later, I watched a car pull into my driveway late at night, and the realization of what was about to happen sank in. Bryan’s life was over, and so was mine as I knew it. Time slowed to a grinding halt, and for a while, I watched as the entire world moved on, but mine sat idle, hoping beyond hope that, somehow, he would come home again.

For years following Bryan’s death, I felt certain I’d never recover. The only person I had ever loved was dead, and I was left to raise our sons alone in a home filled to the brim with grief, and the shadows of my former life filled with joy now unimaginable and unattainable. My waking reality overshadowed the nightmares of my darkest nights. Watching the suffering of my children, lowering their father into the ground.

A year following Bryan’s death, I moved my shrunken family across the country to be closer to the kids’ grandparents. After a few years, our diminished family began to find some semblance of healing and normalcy once more. But for me, the idea of romantic love was not one I could imagine. My only love had died, and with him went my capacity to feel. I was numb to my very core; the part of me that was made for love had died.

But that’s the funny thing about life and love: nothing is ever certain.  As the years passed, our family has seen this idea of uncertainty proven true. It is still painful when we remember all that Bryan lost when he died and all that we lost, but we have found happiness over time, and the heaviness of grief has dissipated.

Five years following the loss of my husband, I decided to take a chance on love once more. I tried dating through an app. It was nerve-wracking, exciting, and horrible all at once. I experienced a lot of bad dates but also a lot of good ones.

 I decided to try it for at least a few months and trust the process. I treated dating like a second job. Every night, I went online, read through profiles, and carefully chose which men best suited what I was looking for. Each weekend, I made coffee dates, arrived early, bought my coffee, and put forth my best effort, hoping to connect with someone.

I found I was able to make a lot of friends, but it was hard to relate to them on a romantic level, and let’s face it, widows are scary. There really are some great men out there and some terrible ones, too. But what I struggled to find through it all was someone with whom I connected deeply. I began to wonder if that part of me that broke when Bryan died hadn’t mended and never would. I told myself I should be grateful I’d ever loved deeply and been loved in return. After only a few months, I was convinced that I’d never fall in love again, so I decided to walk away from the dating scene again.

After canceling my subscription, I had a few weeks left to use the dating app. The holidays were approaching, and I would be too busy for dating anyway. It was perfect timing.

One night, I sat alone in my living room, drinking wine as my sons gamed online with their friends. I sat in the dark and gazed out the window, the TV making noise in the background. A vast city spread out before me, its twinkling lights telling of a million lives filled with activity, love, and relationships. The loneliness I felt was complete and dark. The solitude of my soul seemed to scream out from every fiber of my being. I tried to shake it away by sipping once more from my glass, seeking out a buzz to numb the pain inevitably brought on by these quiet nights.

My phone pinged loudly. Looking down, I discovered a message from the dating app. I welcomed the distraction, thinking maybe someone else was as painfully alone as I was. The message was from Vincent, a recently divorced dad of two teenage sons. Having two teenage boys myself, I thought we could, at the very least, keep each other company on such a quiet night.

He lived about an hour away and was watching TV as his kids were gaming, too. Soon, Vincent and I talked like old friends and exchanged phone numbers. He called me, and the conversation continued as the night flew by. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel completely alone.

Vincent began to call me regularly, and it felt like we’d always known each other. We laughed and cried; he asked me about Bryan and how my kids were doing. He told me about people he had lost in his life and how heartbreaking that had been. After countless hours on the phone over many weeks, we decided to meet in person. I felt a deep connection with someone for the first time in years, but it made me nervous.

I had gotten along with other men in the past, but upon meeting them, things changed, and the initial spark was gone. I didn’t want that to happen with Vincent, but I knew I couldn’t walk away without at least giving it a chance. So we made plans to meet at an out-of-the-way diner one night, halfway between his house and mine. My time was limited because I was taking my children on a trip for the holidays, and our plane left early the following day, so we would only have a few hours.

As I drove to dinner that night, I felt anxiety building up inside of me. Was I wasting more of my time only to be disappointed once more? Could love strike twice in a person's life? Did I deserve such good fortune? All these questions swirled in my mind.

I arrived and pulled my grey SUV around the old beat-up parking lot, surveying the area to see if anyone looked familiar, but the lot was empty. Above me, the sky was a deep grey as the drizzly day faded into night. I parked my car, pulled my keys from the ignition, and tossed them in my pocket. I put a jacket on over my purple sweater and checked my makeup in the mirror before stepping out of the car.

The wind bit coldly at my face as I approached the front of the building. An elderly couple was exiting the front door, which was being held open for them by a younger man. His green eyes seemed to dance with kindness as he smiled at them and told them to have a good night. Then he turned his gaze on me, and my whole life changed instantly. Electricity seemed to course through my body, and I couldn’t look away. His eyes locked on mine, and we smiled at each other as the world around us slowed.

Warmth spread through my body. Though I’d never seen this man before, I had always known him. He didn’t look like the Vincent I’d seen in pictures online, but I recognized him. I felt like I’d finally found my way back home after a lifetime of wandering this earth alone.

That night, the restaurant was horrible; the music was too loud, and I couldn’t hear a word he said. The food was no better, and we were short on time but Vincent was unforgettable. We parted ways after only an hour; he said he would call me when I got home from vacation. For the next week, despite being on a wonderful family trip, I could only think about those green eyes and the kindness in his smile.

Having lost love before, I know the value of it. Halfway through my vacation, I texted him to let him know that I could not get him out of my mind. He responded that he felt the same way and needed to see me again.

When I arrived home, we met as soon as we could. It was the height of the holiday shopping madness right before Christmas, so we met at a mall to do our Christmas shopping and spend time together. For hours, we walked the mall and learned everything there was to know about each other. Halfway through the night, he sat me down on a bench in the mall, looked deep into my eyes, and vowed he would marry me one day. I pushed back tears as I reached up and held his face in my hands.

I had loved before, but never had I believed in soul mates. Yet here I was in the middle of a crowded mall, looking into the eyes of someone I knew I’d spend the rest of my life with after only two dates. The world faded around me as our faces drew close, and he kissed me gently. Tears slipped slowly down my cheeks, the first bits of joy in over five years, spilling out of a grateful heart.