I Saw Him First

I saw him first.

I stared at his profile picture noticing his five o’clock shadow which perfectly defined his jaw line, the way his left eyerbrow furrowed slightly and the rebellious manner in which he wore his Harley Davidson ball cap backwards.  I was drawn into this picture, captivated by his green eyes which gazed slightly right of the camera.  His expression was pensive and wistful.   He was magnetic.   And like the pull of a great novel, I couldn’t put his picture down.  

Face Book suggested that Aaron and I might know each other due to our mutual friends and though most of you know the story, I’ll briefly remind everyone that we did not know each other but, like a dork, I friend requested Aaron because he was just that gorgeous. Yep! That's what I did.  Truthfully, I didn’t expect to actually meet him.  I simply mused that should he accept my friend request, I would enjoy, 1) stalking the rest of his photos, 2) following this incredibly good looking man on Face Book, like a complete weirdo and 3) perhaps becoming acquaintances since he worked at the Harley Dealership where I brought my bike in for service.   

That friend request turned into more than friendship.  But, how we first met would become something he and I joked about many times throughout our relationship.  The fact that I initiated contact with him was sometimes my best ammunition.  Yes, he asked me out but I never missed an opportunity to remind him that I saw him first.  A routine conversation would go something like this: 

Aaron: I love you.

Me:  I love you, too, sweetie.

Aaron: I love you more.

Me: No, I love you more.

Aaron: That’s impossible.

Me: I saw you first.

That last sentence always made him smile.   

I miss his smile.  I miss his hugs and the way we'd sit close together on the couch while watching TV.  I miss the sound of his voice, the smell of his colonge on his neck and his laugh. I miss our conversations.  I miss telling him "I love you" and "I saw you first".  I hope I told him enough.  

Lord knows, I never it saw it coming...the day where I'd see him last.

To My Friends....Thank you.

I wonder who my friends are?

Do you ever wonder that?  Do you ever ponder who would be there if you needed them?  I used to ask myself that a lot.  Being single the majority of the time tends to raise that question.  So does having parents who are out of the picture and zero siblings to boot.  When I ran through this exercise, I thought of many friends but crossed them all off the list due to my self-imposed criteria; he lives too far, she has kids to care for, that friend is already going through something, I’m too independent to be an imposition...the list went on.   Once the majority of my friends were crossed off, I was left with a handful of people I felt I could call.  Maybe three.  Actually...just one.  

This exercise always left me feeling alone and vulnerable yet I still couldn’t help but wonder who my real friends were.

Until one day God showed me.

To my motorcycle friends who filled my Face Book feed by changing your profile and cover photos to pictures of us together...you all brought a smile to my face during a time when I thought my smile was broken.  Thank you.

To my friends who immediately took me under your wing and gave me a place to stay for as long as I needed....and when I’d transition back to my house and you'd not allow 24 hours to pass without checking in on me...Thank you.

To my friend who boarded my dogs that fateful morning and took my shirts to the dry cleaners after noticing that my closet door was opened slightly when the incident occurred...thank you.  When you and another friend gave my room a makeover so I could sleep more peacefully at night...I was eternally grateful.

To everyone who texted, messaged or called...thank you. To this day, the outpouring of love and support still brings me to tears.  

To my friend who came over to hold me while I laid on the floor crying so hard I couldn’t breathe....thank you.  And, thank you for the kindness you showed when you took that large stack of papers from the top of my file box in my closet and meticulously examined each page, one by one.  Thank you for using a scissors to remove teeny pieces of affected paper and throwing the pieces in the garbage where I’d never have to see them again.  I am indebted to you.

To my friend who unconditionally flew out from Chicago to attend Aaron’s service....thank you.  Your visit that one evening was a Godsend.   To the numerous other friends who attended the service in support of me, his family and his friends....thank you.  Your presence meant more to me than I can explain with words.

To the friend who gifted me with a free massage and adjustment, to my friend who sang beautifully and played guitar at Aaron’s service; to everyone who prayed for me, sent sympathy cards, gifted me with books, flowers, trinkets or pieces of jewelry, all from the heart...thank you.  Thank you to those who held me up in church and to those who continue to check in on me. And to my spiritual teachers/friends...thank you for clearing your calendars when I need to come visit.  

I know that's not all; I'm forgetting so many other wonderful ways my friends showed me love during this time.  The end of June is a blur.  July is, too.  God, who am I forgetting?

Prior to any of this happening, I question whether or not I would have shown up for my friends they way they have for me.  I'll never know the answer to that question.  But, I thank God for His amazing display of what that really looks like. I thank Him for revealing the sheer number of friends that poured love into me from the tiniest of gestures to the grandest.  I know one thing for sure...should any of my friends need me in their time of need, I now know exactly what to do. For my friends didn't just serve the role of healers or supporters, they became my teachers.  And, for that and so much more, I am grateful.  

To think I used to wonder who my friends were....

The Promise Ring

I remember, like it was yesterday, the conversation Aaron and I had about rings - you know, the kind women wear on their left ring fingers.   It was a fun and playful conversation but in all seriousness, I appreciated that he wanted my input knowing it would be something I’d wear all the time and he wanted me to be happy with his selection. 

I told him I would be happy with anything he picked out and I truly meant it.  But, in order to ensure that he hit a home run, I made one important suggestion.  I told him the ring would have to fit comfortably under my leather motorcycle gloves.  He just stared at me with a puzzled look on his face.  

So, I proceeded to tell him that my mesh gloves fit loosely but my winter leather gloves are very snug.  He nodded his head letting me know that he was with me so far.   I went on to say that I’d want to wear the ring he gave me all the time and that a band or simple low profile ring would be my preference over a diamond ring with a taller profile.   He nodded his head again in agreement and that was the end of that conversation.

Most girls dream of large, sparkly diamonds on their finger.  But, I’m not like most girls.  I just wanted to wear my ring comfortably while I ride my bike.  

On February 15th, he presented me with a beautiful, low profile ring that did in fact fit comfortably under my leather gloves! We knew it was perhaps too early in our relationship to be officially engaged so we dubbed the ring a  “Promise Ring”. We got a lot of teasing from our friends who asked if we were 17 years old.  But, I’m such a romantic at heart that I rather loved the idea of a promise ring.  It was endearing and heartwarming.

And, I loved being promised to each other.  I loved that he promised to love me forever and by accepting the ring I promised the same love to him in return.   It felt like a true bond to be cherished and not to be broken.

I have worn my ring every single day since February 15th.  And, I have worn it every day since Aaron passed away.  I don’t wear it when I sleep but I place it on my finger first thing in the morning and don’t take it off until I crawl into bed at night.   

Some mornings it’s tough to put on, though.

Sometimes it just feels like a lie.

I find myself staring at the ring and thinking of the meaning it held and I can’t help but feel like he broke his promise.  

He said he’d love me forever.   He always told me he wanted to hold my hand in Heaven.

There are times when I’ve wanted to rip this ring off my finger and throw it out my truck window on the freeway to ensure that even if I wanted to go back and find it, I couldn’t.   I’ve wanted to do the same during RZR rides in the tall pines as we rounded a corner and off to my right was a steep cliff with a creek at the bottom.  Maybe I should just toss it into the creek and let the water take it to where ever it flows. 

I resisted those moments and I’m grateful I did.  I believe I would be filled with such regret if I didn’t still have my ring.    

Because, while I can’t see or touch him, I know he still loves me and that one day we’ll hold hands in heaven.

Sometimes promises don't always look the way we expected them to. Sometimes they are tangible and you can see them and hold them.  Others live in our hearts.  And, in that way, they live forever.  

Piece for Peace

I feel like my heart has been ripped into tiny pieces of emotion, each piece baring its own label:  Denial.  Sadness.  Depression.  Despair.  Betrayal.  Anger.  

It's that last piece - Anger - that I hate the most.  It feels like an unwanted guest.  I'm okay sitting with sadness...that makes sense.  And, give me more moments where I just don't believe Aaron's gone; denial being the 1 or 2 minute vacation I take daily when I spray his cologne and could swear he's in the next room.  Depression, while not my favorite, is my new normal.  And, yes, I sometimes feel betrayal over the way Aaron left me, but sadness and depression win the emotional war so often that I forget betrayal even exists.

But that feeling of anger that washes over me and causes me to purse my lips and shake my head in disgust...

I don't like it.  That can emotional piece can go straight to hell.

I do not want to be angry at the man I loved the most in the world.   I just want to feel love, compassion and empathy toward him. 

But, I do feel angry more than I care to admit.  I feel my hands tightening over the steering wheel as I drive away from my post office with mail addressed to Aaron; mail I'll eventually give to his dad and it breaks my heart every single time.  His dad doesn't want his son's mail.  He wants his son.    

I feel angry when I remember the promises Aaron made to me that will never be fulfilled; promises to take me back to the Grand Canyon, to ride our bikes to Zion National Park, and to be married someday.  He said he would never leave me and promised to love me forever.

I'm angry that my cabin, the place to which I'd escape to rest, recharge and center myself now feels like a black hole containing a void so large that I'm almost positive it can never be filled.

I'm angry when I see his mom cry over the loss of her son.  I'm angry Aaron didn't ask for help; like he was some puzzle we were just supposed to piece together and now it's like it just sits on a table unfinished....all of us feeling like failures because we didn't get it right.

But, I still can't stay angry at him for long.  

I remember his green eyes that lit up with his smile, the way he would look at me when I told him I loved him and all the times he would act goofy to make me smile.  

And, I remember that all I ever wanted for him was for him to be happy.

No, I don't sit with anger very long.  I just love him too much.  That piece of my heart that wants to surge with anger is always quickly replaced with compassion and love.  It's a tradeoff that I easily make every single time.  My anger piece for his emotional peace.  

Love wins every time.