Thinking just now of one of our first talks together- probably in September or October of 1999. We'd had the "define the relationship" talk so early- just a few weeks after our trip to Maryland.
And then things got so dramatic for a number of reasons. So I remember us emailing and me saying something like I wasn't sure about things...the next email I got from you, you said you had left work early and were on a bus on your way to see me and to pick you up at 4:30 at the bus stop in Jersey.
I remember being blown away by your initiative.
I picked you up, we drove to my parent's house and walked across the street to a park. We sat on the bleachers, me in a pair of khakis and a purple sheer sweater with a white tank top underneath, black strappy sandals from which peaked light blue toenails. I remember them like a photograph because I think I was looking at my feet a lot while you talked.
You gave a lot of speeches- and that was one of the things I fell in love with. You dropped everything and came to NJ to talk to me. I know you wanted "us" to work, but what I remember you saying over and over was this:
"I have nothing to offer you. I have no money; I'm just temping. I'm not good at a lot of stuff. I have nothing to offer you."
Last night, yet another widow I've been introduced to asked a very poignant question: Is this torture- this grief so bad that I would rather that I had never met Dan and had those eleven years? Would I trade our life and love together to have not encountered this weight?" The answer can only be no. Our life together is who I am, it brought forth an enchanting daughter, and let me experience unconditional love- love that "Always looks for the best, Never looks back, But keeps going to the end, Love (that) never dies." 1 cor. 13
"I have nothing to offer you," you said so seriously looking into my eyes on those bleachers eleven years ago. I'm so glad I didn't take that at face value. Look at all I would've missed.