Daily Prompt: Percussive
My Dear Husband,
I could feel the percussive rhythm of my heart beating almost out of my chest. I had never done anything like this before. But there was something about you. I could not let this moment pass or I might regret it for the rest of my life.
You were easily the best looking man in the room. Lean, fit, sandy blonde shoulder length hair, gorgeous blue eyes and a stunning smile and you were definitely my type. Serendipitously we had been in the same place at the same time and caught each other’s eye several times throughout the night. Here we were again and if we were going to meet it looked like it was going to have to be me to make the first move.
Bu-bump , bu – bump, bu – bump … God — do I have the courage?
Vikk D (second initial required as I have several good Vicki friends) and I had not planned to go out in our home town that night, circumstances had fortuitously landed us there, and so we found ourselves at all the regular Friday night haunts with the regular crew. It was toward the end of the night when the girls encouraged me to go meet this gorgeous guy (you) that we kept running into.
I thought if I approached you now you would literally see my heart beating out of my chest. I couldn’t do it. Then something came over me, a sense of calm and I thought no, bugger it, if I don’t go now – I’ll never know. Deep breath, steady gaze…off I went. Don’t trip, please don’t trip — I’ve been known to trip over thin air. It would be like me to trip and fall flat on my face at your feet.
Making the First Move
I walked toward you, confidently, (on the outside) my heart still racing on the in. You watched me move toward you with a huge smile on your face. Surrounded by a group of work mates, you were oblivious to their nods and elbowing in my general direction – already you only had eyes for me.
I stopped square in front of you. Probably a little too close, I was definitely inside your personal space, you didn’t seem to mind. We needed to hear each other. I moved even closer and spoke into your left ear, our bodies now touching and asked how I knew you. ( You always maintained I asked why I didn’t know you – this would become a long standing joke between us, throughout our relationship, that we disagreed on right to the end.) The electricity between us was high voltage – those who know us will see what I did there…lol 🙂 !!
We danced and talked for the rest of the night…it was one of the best nights of my life, the rest would all have you in them. The electricity between us never changed. You never stopped making my heart beat out of my chest. Sometimes it was because you were my personal trainer, but mostly because you were and always will be the love of my life!
Ours was a love story of epic proportions. It played out simply, imperfectly and beautifully in a small beachside town that we loved and were proud to call home. Surrounded by a tight knit community of family and friends who have always supported us.
We raised two gorgeous kids together until they were thirteen and will continue to as the solid team we always were. Me from here –you from there. I promise I will continue to parent our children in the same way we always did. I know I will make you proud.
Ours was an interesting, funny, sad, love story that would continue to unfolded after the night we met…one I will continue to tell over time, for our childrens sake and mine — so we continue to remember how amazing the whole story was.
I love you babe and always will, truly, madly … deeply
Side Note 🙂
The first post I ever wrote for calliemm, on the 12th of Sept 2012 on the original blogger format, was a brief reminisce about how Bren and I first met. You can read it here
Todays Letter to my husband was a little update, prompted by the Daily Prompt writing challenge I participate in. This memory is one I am very protective of and so I will also take this opportunity to address a story about the night we met that was told in earshot of several guests at Bren’s funeral — that just wasn’t true.
The two things I want to be very clear about are: firstly neither Bren nor I were drunk that night, actually as far as I can remember I don’t think I ever saw Bren drunk in the 22 years we spent together. And not that it is anyone’s business, but we absolutely did not hook up the night we met either.
The fact that a story like this was told on that day, a day we were honouring Bren and saying our final goodbye, was disappointing to say the least. I am grateful our children didn’t hear it. (I certainly won’t repeat it here, as the way it was retold to me by a concerned friend, who had heard the whole thing — I think it might have been fairly rude) I’m guessing it was a story that was confused with someone else’s, and skewed by time and emotion by the storyteller. I am not upset with them. But I couldn’t really let it go without correction.
So there’s another thing ticked off a list of things to be done as I move my little family along a very twisty, turny road through grief; one that seems never ending, and is fraught with detours, expected and unexpected challenges, learnt lessons, lessons to learn and glimmers of hope, healing and joy.
Thanks for listening,