Tonight, my Valentine is alone in our house in Grapevine having cooked his own birthday dinner and eaten a cake that his parents gave him yesterday. I’m perched in my apartment in Austin watching sleet and snow fall onto the icy streets below. It’s a weird arrangement we have. Our poor children have given up trying to explain their parents to their friends, and now that we’ve been living this way (fairly happily, I’ll add) for the better part of 8 months, I think they finally believe that their parents’ marriage is not on the rocks.
If I’m doing the math right, this is our 32nd Valentine’s Day as a couple. Married for 28 of those, and close friends dating back to years 33 and 34. Our early days weren’t rosy enough to fit neatly into one of those “How we met” social media posts that are going around. Not because of why you might think. For some reason this year, it feels right to be a little vulnerable here and give my sweetheart a little tribute.
You see Miles had a roommate in college, and I was dating him during my freshman year. Things were going as you might expect it to be going for a couple of small town Oklahoma kids finally free from curfews and other inconveniences. There were parties and other sorts of college antics…. and then there was his temper. Even 34 years later, I can still picture the look in his eyes and recall the sound of his voice when he got jealous or annoyed. Since this blog is my happy place of reflection and healing, I’ll not detail the dangerous nature of this relationship, but I want to include enough detail for readers to know that 1) abusive relationships take many forms and can happen to absolutely anyone, 2) there is always a way out to safety, and 3) my Valentine of 32 years was largely responsible for my path to safety.
Miles is stubborn in a way that would make many mules jealous. While that trait has led to more than a few rough patches throughout our decades, he applies that same resolve to his tightly held values of loyalty and help for those in need. And help was what I needed during the year that he lived with my boyfriend.
After a breakup that involved the local hospital, I began to heal. Slowly. But with a determination that marked a clear beginning of the adult chapter of my life. And Miles and I became closer and closer friends. Surviving a year with that level of intensity resulted in a bond that surprised us both.
And now here we are. Lots of years, lots of seasons, lots of cities, homes, tears, mistakes, memories, scars, and laughter later. We have two amazing children and two adorable cats (Miles would disagree on this point for the record). He has supported me in my career and and has consistently been a safe place for me to heal and live and thrive. He’s low maintenance, low drama, and he works his ass off at everything he decides to do.
As I sit in my Austin apartment, employed in a city I love, doing work that is a calling, there is a caring, patient man at home 3 hours away taking care of my countless plants and overlooking the fact that he got not even so much as a card on his Valentine’s birthday. I am a very lucky girl.
Hopefully, this blog post brings him a smile and a little bit of pride in the role he has played in making our family what it is. Thanks, Valentine. And Happy Birthday. See you later this week.
The Second Half Blog 