When she walked through the door of the upscale Newport Beach restaurant, she knew that someone was waiting for her just feet away at the bar. It was someone she had never met but hoped with every fiber of her being that she would like him and he would like her.
She caught his eye as she drew closer to the bar. He was handsome, with light brown hair and lovely green eyes. He stood up to introduce himself. “Hi Sarah. I’m Bill.” He motioned for her to sit down on the stool next to him. “What would you like to drink?” he asked. He was taking her in and memorizing her eyes, her smile, her hair. “A glass of champagne would be nice,” she said demurely. But this was no ingenue. She was in her early fifties and he in his late fifties. Is it even possible to find true love after all these years of empty relationships, bad dates and lonely Saturday nights? She would soon find out. Be patient, Sarah, she told herself. The evening has just begun.
That was August 16, 2002, the night I met my husband. I had been single for eighteen years, raising my son and taking care of my mother who had passed away just eight months prior. My son was getting ready to leave the nest. I would soon be alone, the dreaded “old woman with the cats”, grocery shopping for one. I could imagine the groceries as I laid them down on the conveyor belt: a bottle of champagne, one roasted chicken, some apples, oranges and berries, a few avocados, some kind of fish and of course, cat food. The image in my mind gave me the shivers. I didn’t want to end up like that. The thought was more than a little disturbing.
We started dating and getting to know each other. There were arguments as we each revealed the baggage we had brought with us. It took time. It took patience. It took the desire to believe in and accept another human being into my world. Did I mention patience?
I look back on that time and realize how much we have both grown. We are older now and I dare say considerably wiser. It’s nice that we have gotten to this point in our lives where the small stuff doesn’t matter anymore. The big stuff we handle together, as a team. There’s give and take, compromise and forgiveness. There’s being okay with imperfection, in each other and in the life we’ve built together. There’s knowing that we can withstand whatever confronts us, no matter how big or how destructive that monster may be. It’s letting the little disappointments fade and the special moments be etched into our memories.
When he comes down the driveway at night and honks to let me know he’s home, the butterflies invade my stomach. Knowing that I get to sleep next to him every night warms my heart and curls my toes.
My message to you? Love is real and not reserved for the lucky or the beautiful or the rich. It can happen anytime, usually when you least expect it. It is like a rare orchid that must be nurtured in order to grow and survive. It changes who you are into someone you never imagined yourself to be.
If you have it, be grateful for it and don’t ever take it for granted. If you don’t, then live with an open heart and never stop believing in the impossible. Impossible becomes possible every day. God bless. :))