seven

Yesterday was an anniversary of sorts, though not one that gets celebrated much any more. Neither my boy or I have been very good about recognizing our milestones -- probably because 4 years of a long-distance romance made it no fun -- and other than a weekend away every October there's not much that warrants gifts and cards for each other. That's probably why I had to check my calendar again when I saw the date that was approaching, and why I almost didn't believe how much time had passed. Seven years? Have I really been his for that long? I suppose you could say that I haven't "been his" since our wedding, nearly 3 years ago. Or that I wasn't his until the proposal, almost 2 years before that. Anyone who knew my heart wouldn't agree with that though, because he had me within a month of our first kiss.

I waited a long time to date, choosing to observe other people's misadventures and broken hearts rather than sacrificing myself. I even fought the feelings when they began to surface for him, this friend of mine who seemed so different than everyone else. I analyzed our conversations and picked apart our encounters, trying to find the difference so that I could label it something else. By the time I was ready to admit what was changing inside of me, the circumstances couldn't have been worse. I was leaving for college in 12 days -- physically a state away but really so much further. We were in the middle of a week at camp -- he one of the youngest counselors and me one of the oldest campers. It was a horrible time to start something new, and I almost didn't believe it when he kissed me one night. I floated back to my cabin and got ready for bed, thankful for the darkness that hid my beaming face, and wrote a note so that I would never forget the date. August 8, 2001. It was only later, when we were trying to figure out how "we" worked (or might possibly work) that I began to realize how much of a struggle he had gone through as well. It's silly, but I always assumed that when I finally gave in to my feelings for a boy, he would be beyond grateful and eager to make it work. I don't have such a high opinion of myself as a "catch," but I was used to being the only set of brakes in most relationships. In reality, to know that he had been working through doubts and fears about our changing friendship right along side me was a huge relief.

It was barely a month after our kiss that I had my first dream, and I remember waking from it in disbelief. I turned to my roommate and said, "I'm going to marry him..." and she politely "ummhmm"ed me in her sleep. It felt so strange to say, but even stranger to know -- that I was OK on my own but would be better with him. That he would be a part of me for the rest of my life (which is pretty unimaginable at the ripe age of 17!) I'm excited to celebrate our third wedding anniversary in a few months, because it's important to look back on the day that we publically committed our lives to each other. I hope that I never stop celebrating August 8th as well, because that was the day that my heart began to open to love. I think about myself, heart pounding, face beaming, giddy with the excitement of the boy in front of me, and I think -- you have no idea.