Love you most

It was the third day of spring. I was sitting in the passenger’s seat talking away the drive. I’d been so long since her and I had been on a night out alone. But there we were, headed to a day of errands, a late dinner and a movie.

We were discussing an upcoming trip to NYC and when it would be best to take it before or after the wedding. And the subject turned to Wedding. I took over the conversation asking her a million questions. I always valued her opinion most of all. She knew me better than most of all. And as the unofficial Mexican Martha Stewart, her opinions truly mattered.

So I spilled over on wedding colors, and decoration likings. Flower arrangements and mental lists of prices. I rambled on about seating arrangements and list of guests. Never noticing that the more I spoke the more she responded less and less. Her mood heavy, a tear was shed. So crazed into my future I’d forgotten my present. It was in that moment she looked at me and said:

“I’ll miss you.”

There was pain in her eyes. I cringed as I watched her clear her throat. She was immediately uncomfortable for that sign of weakness. That was her way. But I heard it, and it meant the world to me. I smiled gathering up the courage.

“So what color?” She asks, concentrating again on the road, not giving me a chance to respond. She narrowed her eyes and gripped the steering wheel harder. And I knew that was my cue to move on. She wasn’t one to show weakness, or emotion, her kind of love was felt in action. Few “I love you’s” ever crossed her lips. So when she said something, it was rare but it was truthful and heartfelt.

Later that night, as she was immersed into the film in front of us, I got lost in her laughter, in her lighthearted way, and in the gleam of her eyes. She was so beautiful. So absolutely enchanting. And I couldn’t help but wonder if she knew how much I loved her.

Growing up we had a huge gap in ages. I was her bratty little sister, clinging to her by order of mom and not her own wish. When the years progressed we were never partners in crime or confidants but we were each other’s most reliable source. She always had my back and I had hers. It was an unwritten law, and unspoken law, but it was law nonetheless.

We were very different. I was a social butterfly who lived on a cloud. And she was a realist who dreamed meekly. And when it came to love, well we, we were very different on that matter too. I was more my father’s child in that way, in love with love. With me you could always tell who I was interested in. Even as a child I had my life planned around what I thought love would grant me. Silly notions and silly thoughts. But she, well she was more reserved.

And even though it was the case, there were a couple suitors. But for some reason or another, most unaware to me she never found the right man. She set high standards for herself and was much more preoccupied with the enlighten of herself than the search of another’s heart. I loved that about her. Society… not so much. We come from a background where Everyone gets married. And Everyone has kids. The definition of what it was to be a woman in my family. But she never let stereotypes get in the way. She was of a strong character, one who made her in my eyes not as weak as I. I’ve always admired her for that.

The years went on and eventually all her girlfriends married one by one. And I finally became of age to gain her as a friend. And where I went she followed. I grew sick in 2008 and she was irrevocably tied to me. She slept on the floor of a hospital for a year showing me how much she loved me. It was such a selfish time I took from my family then. She gave up all her free time to help ease the burden of taking care of me. And she became more than a sister; she was a nurse, almost a second mother. Never nagging for a second putting her life on hold for me.  

Those 5 years took a hard toll on all of us. My condition though eventually became more manageable. Slowly I took the reins back from my family and from her. And slowly I ventured, heart in hand, out into the world again. I found out with all the extra baggage it wasn’t as easy as when I was young and healthy and vibrant. So I gave up on love, and on myself. I concentrated solely on my close friends and family, and the bond between my sister and I grew stronger. It was unspoken, but we knew that we’d grow old together. We began planning our lives again, trips, and goals to reach. And I think she knew I’d never leave her side. It was comforting in a way, to know that you’d always have someone beside you, who you could share the ups and downs of life with for the rest of your days.

In the past couple of months though, love gave me one last blessing, unexpectedly when I let go of the wheel I ended up right where I belonged. And in the shape of a wonderful man I found out there was still one last story left in me. One last enchanting and beautiful future. One that him and I are writing at the time, and will soon seal and sign.

My sister is happy for me, as is the rest of the family. But it wasn’t till she said those words that I realized my happiness was bittersweet for her. And so, for me. Because though my future is bright, and it makes me overjoyed to think about. There’s also the realization that I leave behind a loving home, and a loving sister, friend, and one of the women I hold most dear.

She’ll always be a part of my life. She’ll always hold a much bigger part of my heart than she’ll ever know. But reality is things won’t be the same. They can’t be. I’ll be married at the end of the year and will start a whole new role in my own life. And she, well she’s got her own life to live, places to venture off to and people to love, hold, and cherish. And these years, the years of our early life, they’ll be warm memories to hold in our hearts, to esteem once our hair is gray and our youth is long gone.

It’s finally late in the evening when we are heading back home. I’ve gotten sick over something I ate again, and she’s rushing me home for meds. I climb into bed finally, agonizing in pain. She walks in turns my lamp on. And hands me a cup of tea. She asks if I want her to sleep with me. I decline and tell her to rest. She’s halfway to the doorway wishing me a good night and I finally say…

“I’ll miss you too… I love you”

She looks back and smiles.

“Love you more.”

“Love you most.”

The way we were

I think Barbara Streisand said it best. “Memories may be beautiful and yet what’s too painful to remember we simply choose to forget. So it’s the laughter we will remember, whenever we remember… the way we were”

I’m sure that’s the way I’d like my autobiography to be written like. Or anyone else’s. Just the good times. The scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind. But if it were so, then wouldn’t big chunks of our plots be missing, making it impossible to just understand why anyone could ever be just happy? In truth, how can you recognize happiness if you’ve never cringed with sorrow?

My life comes in volumes. Some I’d sell to Hollywood, some awfully wretched, but nevertheless never, ever, uneventful. My boyfriend and I have this discussion often. I say that everything happens for a reason. He says “Some things should just never happen, they should be completely avoided.” And sure, I’m a sap for a happy ending. But what is an ending without the tale?

Last weekend, while at a friend’s wedding, we were dancing and he looks over at the bride and groom and exclaims “He says it only took him one year to fall in love with her. Ha! It took me 10! We got this babe!!!” and we both laugh hysterically as we spin into the song. And we dance the night away.

Love can be like that. Terribly sarcastic. The person you’ve been dying to meet could be light-years away, maybe a couple oceans over. Or maybe, just maybe, they’ve been hanging in your room on an old picture board for the past 10 years and you just never noticed.

Some people come into love so easily, and hey, that’s grand! But for those of us who have fought and struggled well it really feels like quite a battle. One you keep losing at. One that keeps draining you and taking as captive all your closest friends till that party of many becomes a party of one.

But nonetheless we can lose heart but never hope. We walk through the haze, hopeful, waiting that one day the fog will be lifted. That the ground that we walk on will have shifted, and we will see things new and different. That love somehow will find its way to you. That the tears shed were spent for a reason. That the heart that broke, will have healed in due season.

And spoiler alert… it does. I promise on everything I hold dear, it does. I laugh thinking about how my first column ever was titled “What if prince charming detours?” 10 years later, many tales, and battle scars the size of Texas, I come to find he did. And though it might have taken an awful while I’m mighty glad he’s finally, and ever so enchantingly arrived.

It’s late in the evening and he’s sitting on my couch. He stretches his hand, and I take it. No “if’s”, “but’s”, or “and’s” about it. He pulls me in, and I fall back into the couch next to him. And from the pocket of his suit he pulls out an old photo. It’s our first photo, a group picture with our closest friends, taken on the day that we met.

It’s super blurry. Because it’s so old and it’s completely out of focus. But 10 years later maybe it attests to the fact that life can be like that. A little out of focus. A bit blurred. And it doesn’t make sense. Not for a long while, till time itself teaches you everything has its time and place. And when you get there, to that moment. Well, that haze… it lifts. And you see it. There. It’s always been just there...

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories

“Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories” (An Affair to Remember)

It was the first day of winter today. The first day in November a chill filled the air. So cold you bypass the shadows and head straight for the sunlight paths. But it was there among the cold I walked alone.

I was running errands and getting swept away by the Monday Blues. I made it to my car finally and got in as quickly as possible. I burred loudly as an alert flashed the screen on my phone. I looked down and realized my calendar was alerting me of birthdays and such. I scrolled down and I saw his name.

I found it strange that I still held this information after so many years. Even more surprised when I realized it was in some way comforting. And in that car alone, on the first day of winter, with a chill in the air… I felt warmth.

I was only 15 when I met him. I was Cinderella at the ball when I met him, and he was the prince who found my lost slipper. I remember it well. I was sitting down when he walked in to the skating ring. I’d just suffer a hard fall and was trying to recuperate. A bit embarrassed I was taking my skates off when he came over. He’d recognize a mutual friend sitting next to me and wanted to say hello. He had a smile on his face when he introduced himself to me. He asked me what I was doing. And I said that I was quitting.

He laughed and said “Don’t do that. Come on, come with me. I promise, don’t worry, I’ll be there to catch you if you fall.” He extended his hand and I took it.

He was a stranger. But as I took his hand and proceeded to skate with him side by side I forgot all about it. He was charming, and witty, and terribly sweet. It felt safe, and warm, and right.

So we skated the rest of the night, and when the night ended we said goodbye. Sadly, neither one of us thought of asking the other for each other’s number. And yet somehow, I knew I’d see him again someday.

Months passed before I ever did. It was at a convention. I was about to take a step down the stairs when something made me turn left. And there he was. Dressed in a suit, and enchanting smile, just a couple feet away from me. Our eyes met, and we both swiftly moved towards each other. Needless to say, when the convention was over he asked for my number then. The rest as they say was history. Beautiful, first love, enchanting history.

We invested 5 years into each other. We loved foolishly and sometimes blindly the way first loves are often lived. It wasn’t a perfect love. It was after all my first. It was full of mistakes, much on my end for being so young. Full of emotions and ultimatums.

Expectation is what ruins first loves, and it did ours. I’d expected love to be a certain way, having it been engraved in me when it didn’t pan out the way I planned it, it felt like the sky was falling. But he never wavered. He loved me unconditionally. So beautifully that I couldn’t help but keep coming back to him.

The magic of first loves is our ignorance that it can never end. But they do. Because at that age, butterflies never lie still long enough. We parted ways at the end of those 5 years, and moved on with our lives.

I loved him dearly, and I know he loved me very much. But sometimes all the love in the world won’t save a sinking ship. Sometimes you just have to jump over board. And though till this day it warms my heart when I see him, an ending was an ending. No matter how many pages of beautifully written stories led up to it, it would always have the last word.

It’s been many years since then, time and distance created an inevitable gap, and needless to say we both ventured off into different territories. But even so sometimes I can still close my eyes and hear him say “Don’t you worry, I’ll be there to catch you if you fall”. And it still warms my heart.

So maybe I never really got Cinderella’s ending. Maybe in the process the glass slipper broke, but the story well that lives on forever. When I recant the story, I realize how terribly fortunate I was for having had an almost perfect first love. It set the standard pretty high thereafter. And left me a bit of an optimist when it comes to love.

I don’t know where he is in life, strangely enough. But wherever he is I wish him well, and happiness, and lots and lots of love because he deserves it. I adore him still, and always will, after all no one forgets their first love. I have only fond memories. Sweet rose colored memories. And I always will.

Some people in your life create that kind of impact. That inevitable mark in your heart that leaves you changed forever. Making you forever indebted with them for helping shape you. And thanks to him I learned what love is.

Sarah Dessen once wrote: “Some things don’t last forever, but some things do. Like a good song, or a good book, or a good memory you can take out and unfold in your darkest times, pressing down on the corners and peering in close, hoping you still recognize the person you see there.”

And it’s true. Winter may be cold and bitter, and you might burr in desperation at times when it comes to love, but warm memories, well they stay with you forever. And they give you hope in despair. They remind you that if all else fails, eventually, spring will come.