Category: relationships

10Jul

A Leap of Faith in a Leap Year

I knew early on in January that 2016 was a leap year. As a surgery scheduler I deal with future dates, and I recall mentally noting the novelty of the extra day we are awarded in February. Little did I know at the time all the connotations that this leap year would come to mean to me.

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Do you recall that in the last post I introduced you to Charlie?

We enjoyed our first date on January 31st of this year. We shared a casual lunch on a Sunday afternoon – which almost turned into dinner because we stayed so long. Our conversation flowed easily (although, admittedly I was a bit nervous). Eye contact, at times, lingered, and – did my hand touch his arm as I excused myself to the restroom?

We parted ways on that chilly Sunday with a respectable “side” hug and a promise to see one another again before the week was out.

A short three days later we sat in a booth at a local restaurant, once again, enjoying one another’s company. The more we talked, the more it felt like we had known each other far longer than just a few days. And as we sat in that booth together, I gathered up enough courage to steal a kiss from him on that second date. I think it’s safe to say that by the end of that evening, we were both smitten.

The following week we spent every evening together except for one. As a matter of fact, the one evening we did spend apart, felt endless and pointless. By day seven I was asking the question out loud to my friend Brenda, “How do you know when you’re in love with someone?” Without hesitation she replied, “When you can’t imagine your life without them in it.”

Boom. There it was. Oh my God, I’m in love! Can that really happen in a matter of seven short days? Can love really and truly manifest itself in such a short amount of time?

Yes, yes it can. And it did.

But, how do I tell Charlie? Did he feel the same? Could we be that lucky that this is a mutual feeling? In my heart, I knew he felt what I did. We had already confessed to being “in like” with one another – but how and when do you make that leap of faith and admit to being in love? We even joked about who was going to say “it” first.

And it was me.

This woman that has guarded her heart like a fortress for the last seven years said it first.

And it was scary. And freeing. But frightening just the same.

And as the rest of the earth kept rotating, time stood still for me, as I waited for a response.   And  just a few heartbeats later, Charlie echoed the same sentiment.   With that confession, my world became fresh, and new, and whole again. I slept soundly that night, unlike I have slept in many years.

On the morning of day 10, I walked into work and announced to Brenda, “I’m going to marry that man one day.” Her response? “What took you so long?”

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LOVE 

It’s universal.

If we’re lucky enough, we’ve experienced it at least once in our life. When it happens to you, it’s as if you’re the only person in the world to ever have those feelings.

It’s a ride like no other.

They’re the last person you think of before falling asleep, and the first person you think of in those early morning waking moments. The way your name sounds different and special when it’s spoken by your love. It’s when the words “I love you” isn’t enough to express the breadth and the depth of what you feel.  It’s the excitement of discovery, and the comfort of the eventual familiarity.

All of those moments and more, Charlie and I have had with one another.

We love us.

 We say it each and every day. We write it in lunchbox notes. We whisper it while the other one is sleeping. Charlie said to me one night, “I fell in love with us, before I fell in love with you.” And it made perfect sense. This unit that we have formed has such a bond and a cohesiveness, and as cliché as it sounds, it’s difficult to see where one starts and the other one ends. One night as the evening came to a close, I asked Charlie,  “What did we do before “us”?” Neither one of us could even remember.

 

LEAP YEAR 2016

It was brought to our attention early in February of the old Irish tradition that a woman can ask the man to marry her in a leap year. Now I know that may sound sexist, and I understand that  we live in the 21st century where a woman can do damn well what she wants and when she wants to – but don’t we (women) still want that romantic, storybook proposal – man down on one knee with a sparkling diamond peeking out of a jewelry box? Maybe even “Will you marry me?” spelled out in the sky?

Charlie teased me incessantly about the Irish leap year tradition. I stood my ground like the “Turner” that I am. No way would I ask him to marry me. No way would I rob myself of every romantic notion that I had of being proposed to by my love.

*** By now you’re probably saying to yourself, “Wait, isn’t this rather soon to be talking marriage?” Admittedly, if I were on the outside looking in I would most likely agree. But all I can say is, “When you know, you know.” ***

On the evening of February 29th, Charlie was still teasing me about the old Irish custom. We stayed awake that night and watched the clock as it turned to midnight. And even though we were only half joking about a leap day proposal, when I didn’t “pop the question” before the day ended,  I found myself a bit let down. Not by Charlie – but by me.  And as we settled into sleep, my thoughts went to the knowledge that I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with this man.

IMG_0295Life with Charlie is an adventure. Every day is better than the last. We have both been on our own for many years, and this new found togetherness has been something that we have both welcomed. We want to be where the other one is. We want to do what the other one is doing. At a time in our lives when we have more years behind us than in front of us, we want to spend it together.

But – we did have a bump in the road a couple of months ago, and I have to point the finger of blame at myself. The truth is, it’s been a transition for me going from the widow of a man to being a partner in a new relationship. I didn’t realize just how many times I brought up Michael’s name in conversation – and not always when it was just the two of us. I can’t say why I would bring him up – maybe because I had become accustomed to talking about him – maybe… I don’t know – did I feel guilty that I was finally moving forward? But one evening Charlie sat me down and told me that as much as he was ready to be in this relationship, he didn’t think I was.

I was devastated. And frightened beyond words. I believed in my heart that I was ready  – but had my actions said differently?

Charlie was kind, gentle, and nonjudgmental. He simply said that whenever I knew that I was ready, to let him know.

I went to sleep that evening with a heavy heart and a lot on my mind.

The next few days was a time for reflection and soul searching.

Was I really ready for this? Did I have it in me to completely give myself to someone new? Could I possibly ever trust another man with my heart? Was I ready to roll the dice and give myself over to this relationship? And then I remembered a quote from Helen Keller. She said, “Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.”

And I knew.

Yes.

Hell yes I was ready. It was time to allow myself to be completely untethered by the past and look forward to the future.

But as sure as I was, would I be able to convince Charlie? This man. This incredible man that loves me and has welcomed me into his world – how do we cross that bridge?

ONE MORE LEAP

It was a Friday afternoon. We were rushing around the house trying to get ready to hit the road to Memphis, Charlie’s hometown. Did we pack the camera? Yes. What about Annie’s food (his 7 pound chihuahua). Yes, got that too. Snacks? Yes.

And as Charlie was standing on the landing of the stairs, and I on the first step, I put my arms around his neck, and I said,

“Marry me.”

No fanfare. No rose petals. No violins. No skywriting.

Just a woman asking a man to spend the rest of their lives together.

Charlie went from stunned to disbelief. But in the end, when he knew that I meant it,  he said yes.

And how did this  “Turner” girl go from her stubborn self to one that asks a man to marry her?

Well, she sees this absolutely wonderful man in front of her, one that has offered his hand in her hand, his heart to join with hers; and she swallows all pride and takes the biggest leap of faith that she’s ever taken in her life.

And he said yes.

And I’ve never been happier.

One last thing.

After we got on the road that afternoon, Charlie confessed to his plan of proposing to me while in Memphis. On top of the pyramid. At dusk. While the sun was setting over the Mississippi River.

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So in the end, we both won – because we have each other – to have and to hold from this day forward.

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We love us.

For Charlie.

All my love,
Cat

16Mar

A Home for my Heart

Almost seven years ago I found myself standing in a funeral receiving line as the widow of a man that took his own life. I was told later that I uttered the words, “I will never smile again.” Now that I look back, I’m sure I believed those words.

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The road has been long, and at times, seemingly endless.

Many of you have accompanied me on this unintentional journey. You have been there to catch my tears and to buffer my falls. You have endured my many questions that there were no answers to. You have witnessed my small victories and stood by my side while I experienced life’s disappointments. My gratitude for your love and support is immeasurable.

And although grateful for my many friends and family that have been there for me, I discovered that any healing, or any growth that would take place in my life,  would ultimately be up to me.

So I set out on this – what – pilgrimage, if you will, to forge a new life for myself.  A life without Michael. A life without a mate. A life where I was forced to learn my weaknesses.  A life without a safety net.

But where do you begin? Where do you go and what do you do? How do you continue when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and pretend this awful thing didn’t happen?

Well, to answer these somewhat rhetorical questions, I will borrow a scene from one of my favorite movies – Sleepless in Seattle. Tom Hank’s character is trying to explain his life as a new widower.

Doctor Marcia Fieldstone: “What are you going to do?”
Sam Baldwin: “Well, I’m gonna get out of bed every morning… breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won’t have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out… and, then after a while, I won’t have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while.”

And that’s what I did.

Breathe in.
Mourn for the love that was taken from me.

Breathe out.
Mourn for the life I had to leave behind.

Breathe in.
Fill my lungs with the fragrance of a new day.

Breathe out.
Look around me and witness the china blue sky.

 It was gradual. It was painstakingly slow.

But, in time,  I began to face each day with more optimism than the last; with more laughter (yes, I laughed and smiled again) than sorrow; with more joy than grief. I began to breathe in contentment; and exhale the pain. I have stayed true to the belief that this tragedy would not define me.

And as the years have passed, and as time has marched on, I have evolved and transformed  into a woman that absolutely loves life and all of the good, the bad, and the ugly that it encompasses.

Six months ago I began a weight loss journey; one that I have not shared on social media – maybe because it was so personal – maybe because I feared failure. But I jumped in – head first – and have not come up for air. To date, I have lost 48 pounds.

How do I feel? Wonderful. Successful. In control.

Which catapulted me back into the dating world.

Yes, I joined Match.com.

And on the first morning of my membership I am greeted with the most friendly of greetings:

“It’s a great day to say Good Morning TnShortStory.”

Meet Charlie.

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Our beginning was a couple of witty emails, followed by a surprisingly easy phone conversation, and ending in an unpretentious meeting at a local Chili’s for lunch. Come to find out,  we have a mutual friend (thank you Spencer), that corroborated that neither one of us were serial killers, stalkers, or relatively bad people.

We have been together ever since.

May I please tell you about this man?

He is kind. He has a heart that is pure, and I believe, spun of gold.  His sincerity reaches to my soul. His amazing creativity inspires me. His energy is contagious and the way he looks at me – well, it melts my heart.  His love for life is equal to mine.

We fell in love; almost in an instant.  All of this seemed to be happening so fast – or was it? Looking back – given my history and his, I believe God has been preparing our hearts for one another for some time now. The time was right. Our hearts were ready. And it happened.

There is no turning back from this irrefutable, irresistible, wonderful love. Come hell, or high water, I love this man. And he loves me. If I could safely shout it from the rooftops, I would. We are planning a life together. A future.

From the beginning we have captured a sentiment.

We love “us”.

A unit that was formed from two people into one entity.

Us.

And that is how we will remain.

Us.

Charlie and Cathy.

A life to be lived. A love to share. A future to write.

Our hearts are finally home.

All my love,
Cat

For Charlie.

20Dec

Fair weather and bald heads

25

Like most people, I am a work in progress. When I discover something I don’t like about myself, I try to change it the best I can. Like Dr. Phil says, “We can’t change what we don’t acknowledge”.

So this past summer I learned something about myself. Or rather, I acknowledged something about myself that I really don’t care for.

I am a “fair weather” person. I mean literally. And figuratively. So many times I allow my surroundings to dictate my experiences.  Let me give you an example.

My granddaughter Lexi’s birthday is in July. This year on her eighth birthday she decided she wanted to have her birthday party at a nearby playground.  I hesitate to admit it, but I really wasn’t thrilled with her choice. The month of July in East Tennessee is hot. And humid. And mosquitos fly rampant.  And this wasn’t a beautiful park with shade trees and a running stream, this was simply a playground.

That hot and humid afternoon we gathered at the playground and celebrated Lexi’s birthday. Although, in truth, I didn’t do much celebrating at all.  While others were enjoying their grilled hot dogs, I was obsessing over how hot and uncomfortable I was. I focused on the sweat building up on my forehead and the heat from my hair on the back of my neck. The mosquito repellent that I purchased on the way there, had been omitted from the bag, so while others were watching Lexi unwrap her gifts, I was on the lookout for mosquitos trying to ravage my legs. I left the party at the first acceptable chance I could. All I could think about was air conditioning and a cold drink waiting for me at home.

Only later that evening after a cool shower and a cold drink did I reflect on my actions. Looking back, just because my creature comforts were not met, I didn’t allow myself to enjoy my granddaughters party. I failed to look beyond myself and capture the essence of the moment.

And I find that I’m not limited to just climate conditions interfering with my full, undivided participation in life. Small irritants like someone being too loud in a restaurant, or a fly circling my glass can distract me as well.

After that birthday party, I have become much more aware of my tendency to focus on the seemingly negative influences that made me create boundaries between me and my ability to enjoy life’s experiences.

Which brings me to today.

It’s Christmastime. What little shopping and wrapping I had to do is done. My little tree is decorated. These last few weekends I have most likely watched every Hallmark Christmas movie that  has ever been made. And as much as these things have put me in the Christmas spirit, I wanted to bring myself back to the root of what Christmas means to me; the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. So, I went to church this morning. The church my daughter Heather attends was having a Christmas musical presentation.

I set my alarm clock early not wanting to rush getting ready. I made time to eat breakfast. I left early in order to get a good seat. As I’m sitting down in the second row (center, I might add), I’m grateful that I got up and left early. This is a good seat. The room is beginning to fill up with the anticipated full house. I look toward the stage and there it is. Right smack in front of me. The biggest, baldest head I have ever seen. Oh no! It’s the fear every short person has – to get behind a big head. I began to get that vague dread that I was going to allow this small bump in the road, this distraction, to interfere with my Christmas experience. Was I going to disregard the reflex to focus on the negative or was this surely going to ruin the next hour for me?

So I closed my eyes and thought back about Lexi’s birthday party and all that I chose to ignore that day; Lexi’s smile, my grown children playing childhood games with their niece, and so much more. And as my eyes were closed and my mind replayed that day, around me the drums began to drum loudly, the sound rising up in my chest. (Literal drums, the program was beginning).

When I opened my eyes… well, the big bald head was still there. And as hard as it was to ignore, I found myself forgetting it was there. And by doing that, I was blessed with the most captivating, spiritually uplifting, experiences I’ve had in a long time.

So, the next time my fair weather tendency rears its ugly head, I will have today’s experience to look back on and know that I can overcome the impulse to focus on the negative. It’s a small step I know, but a step just the same.

Merry Christmas,

Cat

13Sep

Single file and yeast rolls

It happened in an instant and it came from out of nowhere. Just the other day I was walking down a hallway (location not important) and there it was. That smell, that aroma, that unmistaken combination of yeast, disinfectant, and a faint hint of…what…ink from a mimeograph machine? And there I was again, transformed back into the halls of my elementary school.

I could see myself walking in a “single file” line with my classmates going to the cafeteria at lunch time. You could smell the fresh baked yeast rolls all the way down the hall. On the way we would pass the boys and girls restrooms (on the right), and just before entering the cafeteria, there on the left, was the office (where the intimidating principal lived). Thus, the trio of aromas hitting the senses; yeast from the rolls, disinfectant from the rest rooms, and ink from the office. Good, reminiscing smells.

I look back on my  school days at Powell Elementary School and smile. I was quiet and shy (hard to believe, right?). I tended to be a follower – I don’t think there was a “leader” bone in my body. I can recall even being nervous when I was, on the occasion, proclaimed “line leader”. After all, that’s a lot of responsibility and everybody is looking to you to keep that line straight and true.

Powell Elementary, the institution where I learned reading, writing, and begrudgingly, arithmetic – and a whole lot more. It was the place where I first witnessed someone with a learning disability and wanting desperately to help him. The thrill of watching a reel-to-reel movie even though it was educational (please, no pop quiz afterwards). The dreaded “achievement tests”. The smell of pencil shavings and the feel of chalk between my fingers. The excitement of getting to go outside on pretty days for a lesson or two (thank you Miss Hendrix). The morning Pledge of Allegiance where we all proudly put our hands over our hearts and recited those words.

In those years I found out that Santa Claus wasn’t real, and not every teacher is nice. The yearly group picture where I would inevitably be seated on the far end (shortest on the end after all). Those halls witnessed my first kiss (a quick kiss in the cafeteria after school) and subsequently, my first breakup. I enjoy thinking back of art class in the spooky basement, the musty smell of the gym floor (yes, we laid directly on the floor),and the sound of the bell ringing telling us that the school day was over. I established a lifelong friend, Ellie Baker Howe.

Those memories are forever etched in my mind. I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Those formative years where life lessons made more of an impression than the “Three R’s”. May those halls forever echo the chant, “Go Panthers”!