One year ago this week.
Bev and I moved in together.
We’ve lived together for a year now.
It’s been a full and busy year. Because in that year we’ve both worked our way through new jobs. We’ve begun a life together. We’ve started a home. Bit by bit rebuilding lives we had apart, but this time together. It was one of those really fortunate things you don’t see as fortunate at the time. But aside from some crappy furniture I had from when I lived alone and Ruby’s stuff (which was always in better shape than mine) we had nothing. We have built things up. And what we have is genuinely ours. It’s really a shared life.
We both were making our way back from some of life’s toughest challenges. Hers was the illness and death of her father. She moved east to be close and spend his final days with him. Me I was tending to a collapsed relationship with my daughter’s mother. My little girl was very tiny when I left, barely a year old. And I was coming back from my father’s suicide. Ruby was just 11 weeks old then and it just sped along an end her mother and I knew would come. Because we just were not right for one another.
But after that and some dating with some nice enough women. And a sincere effort to connect, I found that there was no spark. No fire. No real interest.
Then I met Bev and we lit like a wildfire. And like a wildfire we have had our rough spots while we were dating and since we moved in. But we still got heat.
It’s strange but we actually broke up a couple years ago for a while and both dated other people. And both found it to not feel right. Our hearts were tied together. We were still drawn to each other, even miles apart.
We came back together and in a crazy and busy time we just dove in and ahead last year. To the outsider it would have maybe appeared crazy and make no sense and probably not well thought out. But aren’t all great relationships seen that way? Unless you are in it you just don’t get it.
And here we are, we’ve worked our way through. I cannot imagine any other person being in my life but her. This is my family. It’s all I need. I love her and I lust for her. She makes me feel loved, safe and calm. When the hours are long at work or when people wear me down, when I just feel like I got nothing more to give. When my daughter’s mother makes me want to break stuff and when my boss makes me feel about 2 inches tall. It’s coming home to her I think of. It’s in her that I find new strength and time to heal. When I need it’s her that I need.
That’s new. That’s something I never understood or saw in other relationships. I have been used to and been accustom to and I have built a habit. But I’ve never needed. It’s as real as an addiction. When we apart too long I feel it. Except this is a healthy need. Because she refuses to allow me to be crippled by it. Or rely on her. She supports me and pushes me forward, she will not leave me to do it alone. But she will not do it for me. And that’s the greatest gift anyone can give us, the right to fight. The right to do for ourselves. When she gives me the room to fail she gives me the room to succeed.
And now there is us.
The smell of her, the sound of her, her breathing and her voice. The taste of her and the feel of her. The acceptance and the affection. The intense love making. When I close my eyes it is her I see. She is my perfect woman. My perfect thing. She makes me smile and she makes me shake my head. We laugh a lot. We have inside jokes and we laugh at the world. Hell we laugh at you. Don’t worry it’s not malicious. It’s just that we share in a sort of amused view. You guys are a part of us. Not a bad thing at all.
41 years and for the first time in my life, I am truly happy. It’s not the happy I thought people had when they got here. I always pictured some Hollywood version or some song sung in the breathy tones of affection. But a movie is 2 hours and a song is 4 minutes. This is real, it’s life and it’s forever. It is a happiness that is not euphoric. But really I don’t want euphoria. That’s not a realistic way to live. I tried, 20 or more years of addiction was about chasing the euphoria of that first opiate rush. There’s always a price to pay for that. This happiness is a low and warm fire. It is reliable and sustainable. It doesn’t make promises it cannot keep. And it is not scary. It’s not happiness with a warning sticker. One that warns you that it can be swept out from under your feet. It’s real. It’s ours.
I know her. She knows me. And the woman I know is better than anyone. I’d stand beside her in anything and fight for any reason she gave me. Because she would never abuse that faith or trust. She would never ask of me anything but what is important and what is real.
Here’s the truth, if I could just be her friend and know her like that, I’d feel honored. That I get to call her my partner and my woman. That’s like winning the lottery. I got this through no fault or plan of my own. I got lucky here.I won this time.
A year feels like a lifetime and not enough time. And we have a lifetime left. That’s a gift.
