I met my now-husband, Chris, when I was living in the land of the broken hearted. Perhaps you have lived in that bleak land yourself – the place where you awake feeling hopeless and fall asleep feeling hopeless. Where your hours are consumed by thoughts of the person who has rendered you see-through and fragile. Where every song, every book passage holds tragic and poignant meaning. Where your head is filled with imaginary dialogues (polished to perfection) with your former love. Where you weep. And weep and weep. Where you wonder, seriously, if you can ever love - like that - again.
I had been banished to that dark place when Chris found me.
He was a man of few words but numerous gestures. On the outskirts of that cheerless land where I was living, Chris took me for walks in the woods and canoe rides on the river. He taught me how to hit golf balls and how to catch fish. He packed me picnic baskets and picked me wildflowers. And despite my very best attempts to send him away, he stayed and loved me even when I was incapable of loving him back.
Slowly, the deep fissures in my heart began to mend. The blood pumped, the skin flushed. And when, on one unseasonably sunny day, Chris proposed a forever with him, only one response seemed possible. I packed my bags, and without informing the gatekeeper of that joyless place I had called home, I left.
So it’s Valentine’s Day. And to my dear husband Chris, I offer not chocolates but thanks. For the one-way bus ticket that took me away from that sad and terrible place– the land with no sign posts and little hope. I have never forgotten.
And to you, friendly reader and keeper of secrets, I wish a very happy day, with or without a valentine.
Image by Jenny Holzer
