I want to tell you a story about two people.
Two people who fit together, as he says, like a jigsaw puzzle.
I tell him I like him more and more everyday.
There are moments we cling to each other, moments we push away, moments we fall back and moments we fall forward - both alone and together.
We are a complicated pair. In our own heads often. Intense. Independent. Damaged (and I mean that in the best possible way). Passionate. We are so very different and so very much the same.
We have tangled schedules. We tip toe. We ask forgiveness. I soften as I remember these are new pathways and I can choose something different this time.
We inhabit a new territory. Our families broke open. We know that sadness. We know the questions and the fear and the desire to create and build and protect. We know what it's like to know someone forever and ever and then have that person disappear (even though both are still integral pieces of our lives). We know the reality of stories that have an ending.
We also know new joy and we've felt that rush of a beginning.
We are learning as we grow. Alone and together about who we are as individuals and who we are together and what it means to have our families expand.
I don't know how this story will end. It's happening right now and we're living it. Sometimes these sorts of stories are really hard to tell because you're living in the middle of it.
If we always waited for the end to tell a story we'd miss so much.
When I feel most afraid I remind myself that there are things to say, and things to celebrate, and pieces to document without fear of how the story will end. Do stories ever really end? Or do they just change and curve and zig zag and evolve into the next one?
Our family stories are different now, but they are still our families.
What I know is this, he has a huge giant heart of gold even when he tries to hide it with jokes and sarcasm. And the cure for everything just might be pie. Pumpkin for him, fruit for me.
We are in it people. One day at a time.
To be continued.