In the first two months of 2001 I closed my heart and committed to never opening it again for anyone short of my own family and but a scant few friends. I had no reason to. Then at a friend’s birthday party on March 24th of the same year I met Susan who made the same commitment to herself a long time ago. It didn’t take long – two days actually; one day really for me – for us to be totally enamored over the other and write off the silly commitment for a life of solitude.
I never imagined that seven months of the two of us flying from Minnesota to Texas and Texas to Minnesota would have such an impact on my life – our lives. We were nuts over the other. This whole flying to see the other, spend a long weekend together, fly back and wait an agonizing month till we were together again was just too much. We couldn’t be separated. We moved to Houston and allowed the adventure to unfold.
It was a grand experience. Being with her was like living a life that belonged to someone else. It was like looking into the window of a neighbor’s home and saying to myself: “I wish I had a life like that.” But I WAS living it. I felt so undeserving, yet I was selfish enough to grasp it tightly and say “mine!” and never let it go.
Susan and I, as an example of our particular antics, used to have a playful argument between us – who was the luckiest? She’d say she was. I’d say no, I was. What she didn’t understand was that I was seeing my life transform for the better because of her. She changed me. Anybody who knew me before I met her could testify that I was a different person. So who was the luckiest? That was me. And now I have the final word on that.
How lucky was I? She made everyday special. From great gestures of love to small and easily overlooked ones of preparing the coffee before going to bed; kissing me every morning before work and right before going to sleep without a miss; holding my hand for no reason at all other than she wanted to touch me; leaving little notes of “I love you” by my toothbrush or wedged between the pages of the book that I’m reading; or simply changing the channel without complaint when I walk into the room if she were watching The Wedding Singer knowing full well that I hate Adam Sandler. You couldn’t ask for a better wife.
If ever I needed the confirmation that all was right in the world, all I needed to do was stand by her and no matter how grim and foreboding things may seem, she made me feel that nothing was too large or too scary was going to hold me down. It could have been money issues, or an illness, an auto accident, or job concerns. It didn’t matter. Being with her soothed my worries and replaced them with a cool nonchalance that the two of us will handle the quandary like a pair of crafty desperados.
I could say I wanted to do this or do that, whatever the dream or lofty the ambition, she’d make me feel like it wasn’t impossible. She was my life coach, my Saint Jude. Her “can do” drive was most infectious and thankfully there was no cure for it.
Susan had this one phrase that she’d say often, mainly upon our return from our Friday Date Nights. Just as we’re parking the car, she’d look at our Townhouse and say “I love our little home.” Hearing that confirmed so much about our lives and the direction it was going. Her phrase wasn’t about the stuff inside our home or the appearance of it. It was the nature, the aura of our togetherness that she was speaking of. It was a weekly confirmation that the “I do’s” we exchanged was a perfect decision; that every choice from the moment we first met to the instant we unlock the door and go inside were right ones. I loved our little home, too. She’s the one that made it that way for us.
A friend said to my family in Spanish after observing Susan and my similarities – which were comic books, horror movies, Sci-Fi, Halloween themes, paranormal and the supernatural - that roughly translates to “God made them; God put them together.” That was so true. It was like joining two daunting pieces: a Jack and Sally; a Gomez and Morticia Addams. Once attached, we were like youngsters, school yard chums, mischievous and secretly snickering behind the tree.
We were like children – happy children – playing a game from morning till sunset; till one of us would be called home. And one was.
Susan: I miss you, Honey. I will miss you every day of my life no matter how many seasons turn, or the number of people I meet. Days, years, faces and personalities will come and go, but my memory of you and how precious you were to me will remain fixed in my heart. I was the luckiest. But most importantly, I was the most blessed. Of the forty-two years of my life, the seven with you were my happiest.
Till we’re together again in each other’s arms, I will make you proud you ever knew me, loved me, and chose to marry me. Forever and always I will love you.
Happy Fifth Anniversary, Gorgeous.
Ray
I never imagined that seven months of the two of us flying from Minnesota to Texas and Texas to Minnesota would have such an impact on my life – our lives. We were nuts over the other. This whole flying to see the other, spend a long weekend together, fly back and wait an agonizing month till we were together again was just too much. We couldn’t be separated. We moved to Houston and allowed the adventure to unfold.
It was a grand experience. Being with her was like living a life that belonged to someone else. It was like looking into the window of a neighbor’s home and saying to myself: “I wish I had a life like that.” But I WAS living it. I felt so undeserving, yet I was selfish enough to grasp it tightly and say “mine!” and never let it go.
Susan and I, as an example of our particular antics, used to have a playful argument between us – who was the luckiest? She’d say she was. I’d say no, I was. What she didn’t understand was that I was seeing my life transform for the better because of her. She changed me. Anybody who knew me before I met her could testify that I was a different person. So who was the luckiest? That was me. And now I have the final word on that.
How lucky was I? She made everyday special. From great gestures of love to small and easily overlooked ones of preparing the coffee before going to bed; kissing me every morning before work and right before going to sleep without a miss; holding my hand for no reason at all other than she wanted to touch me; leaving little notes of “I love you” by my toothbrush or wedged between the pages of the book that I’m reading; or simply changing the channel without complaint when I walk into the room if she were watching The Wedding Singer knowing full well that I hate Adam Sandler. You couldn’t ask for a better wife.
If ever I needed the confirmation that all was right in the world, all I needed to do was stand by her and no matter how grim and foreboding things may seem, she made me feel that nothing was too large or too scary was going to hold me down. It could have been money issues, or an illness, an auto accident, or job concerns. It didn’t matter. Being with her soothed my worries and replaced them with a cool nonchalance that the two of us will handle the quandary like a pair of crafty desperados.
I could say I wanted to do this or do that, whatever the dream or lofty the ambition, she’d make me feel like it wasn’t impossible. She was my life coach, my Saint Jude. Her “can do” drive was most infectious and thankfully there was no cure for it.
Susan had this one phrase that she’d say often, mainly upon our return from our Friday Date Nights. Just as we’re parking the car, she’d look at our Townhouse and say “I love our little home.” Hearing that confirmed so much about our lives and the direction it was going. Her phrase wasn’t about the stuff inside our home or the appearance of it. It was the nature, the aura of our togetherness that she was speaking of. It was a weekly confirmation that the “I do’s” we exchanged was a perfect decision; that every choice from the moment we first met to the instant we unlock the door and go inside were right ones. I loved our little home, too. She’s the one that made it that way for us.
A friend said to my family in Spanish after observing Susan and my similarities – which were comic books, horror movies, Sci-Fi, Halloween themes, paranormal and the supernatural - that roughly translates to “God made them; God put them together.” That was so true. It was like joining two daunting pieces: a Jack and Sally; a Gomez and Morticia Addams. Once attached, we were like youngsters, school yard chums, mischievous and secretly snickering behind the tree.
We were like children – happy children – playing a game from morning till sunset; till one of us would be called home. And one was.
Susan: I miss you, Honey. I will miss you every day of my life no matter how many seasons turn, or the number of people I meet. Days, years, faces and personalities will come and go, but my memory of you and how precious you were to me will remain fixed in my heart. I was the luckiest. But most importantly, I was the most blessed. Of the forty-two years of my life, the seven with you were my happiest.
Till we’re together again in each other’s arms, I will make you proud you ever knew me, loved me, and chose to marry me. Forever and always I will love you.
Happy Fifth Anniversary, Gorgeous.
Ray
A moment in time at one of the many, many date nights we had.
Our Wedding Cakes 2003 
