Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Two anniversaries

Fourteen years ago, I went on a New Year's trip to Las Vegas with a friend from my college choir and three of her old high-school friends, one of whom was P.

At that point, P and I had known each other for about eight months, but we'd never socialized outside the group. He had literally gotten up out of his sickbed to go on this trip -- he had a horrible virus that was probably the flu -- and was still so sick that with five of us crammed into a double room, he got a bed to himself because no one wanted to risk being exposed to his germs. (Much later, he told me, "You were going, so I had to go too!") Within the first 24 hours, we discovered that we really only wanted to spend time together, and soon we were splitting off from the rest of the group at every opportunity -- so much that everyone started grinning knowingly at us and making "Oh look, there they go again" comments.

So anyway, New Year's Eve fell on the third day of the trip. We were in the middle of a casino when midnight arrived, and since we could hardly kiss for the first time in front of everyone, we hugged each other instead. I remember it so clearly, standing there surrounded by the sounds of five-dollar slots and cheering, standing there for so long that eventually other people in our party started cutting in -- "Hey, what about us?" I remember the blue shirt P had on and that he had to bend down a little bit to hug me properly because he was six inches taller. I remember it all, and if I could choose any minute of my life to relive, that might just be the one.

He and I used to reminisce fondly about that New Year's all the time -- how much fun we had, and how much we missed each other during the week between when we came home and when we saw each other again. (He invited me to dinner at the first opportunity, and the rest is history.) Today marks 18 months since his death, and now I'm the only one left who remembers what it was like for us. And all I can do is write it down and hope that someone else who's fallen in love will understand.

10 comments:

Gayle said...

Your post has me in tears. I'm also a recent widow and you so perfectly captured that feeling of so deeply missing the one person in the world who shares your stories and memories. Thank you.

Space Mom said...

I can still smell the room where I fell in love with Jay...

I understand. I am thinking of you today

Suedaz said...

Those moments that are so deeply etched into our souls are the true face of love, aren't they?
Thanks for sharing.

CresceNet said...
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CresceNet said...
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Well-heeled mom said...

I love reading your memories.

Variations On A Theme said...

I hope your writing helps in your healing process. It's very generous of you to share your memories with the rest of us. I feel silly even commenting here, because I've never experienced such a loss, so I can't even comprehend your loss. I'm in tears, though, and realizing how very fortunate I am.

Annie said...

Someday you can show these writings to your daughter and she will be thrilled to have the written record of you and her dad and your memories.

I don't think anyone can forget that first moment when you knew that it was love and it was forever.

writermeeg said...

your post made me cry, then gayle's comment made me cry. and i second everybody telling you thanks for sharing your memories and that G will love to read them someday. i'm thinking of you and sending hugs. holidays over, finally...

Humincat said...

You always remind me of what is truly important. I think I'll post my moment someday soon.