The reminder

We weren’t speaking to each other when we left the house at 3 PM, each mired in our own set of frustrations.  Stress was taking a toll on both of us, and we had let it escalate into a disagreement the night before.   For the first half of the 90-minute ride, I closed my eyes and wished to be back home, especially since I had to leave early the next morning for a business trip.

He is much more willing to extend the olive branch than I am in my stubbornness, and he took my hand in his and kissed it.  Slowly, the ice was broken.   By the time we returned home, after midnight (our longest date since our son was born) I had a priceless opportunity to see again why I fell in love with him in the first place.  

In 2006, I was dating my now-husband in the middle of some tough times.  My first marriage had crashed and burned and I was still picking through the rubble to find myself again. For some reason, Will thought I was salvageable, and he kept calling me through all of the tears and the uncertainty on my part, and we got to know each other through cross-country phone calls before we even had our first official date.

Often, he would sing to me.  I remember him singing something about a bull named Fumanchu, and I thought he might be a little crazy:  crazy sweet; crazy thoughtful; crazy in love with me before I even realized it.  Not a country fan at the time, I didn’t know that this particular song was on its way to being a huge hit. All I knew was that Will was singing it to me over the phone from a business trip in Wyoming, and this west Texas boy was slowly melting my heart.  

The first time I went to visit him in Arizona, he had made a CD for our trip from Phoenix to Sedona with some of his favorite country songs.  I still have it at my desk, nine years later.  We listened to that CD over and over, with him singing the words to me, and me turning over the music in my head, trying to make sense of both the unfamiliar genre and this new situation.  It was all deliciously heady; the music became the soundtrack of our early courtship.

Over time, I got to know more country music, even while claiming that I couldn’t stand it.  Now we have a son who shares our love for music and, at 3 ½, insists on knowing the name of the artist and the song on the radio – that is, if he doesn’t know it already in the first few notes, which he often does.   And he prefers country with a dash of AC/DC, Maroon 5, Katy Perry, and others who catch his ear. 

One of those songs on that first CD was George Strait’s “Yes or No” and I had never heard of George Strait up to that moment.  (I know, country fans.  The man has nearly 60 number one hits; I had no idea.) 

 

So when we had the opportunity to buy George Strait tickets in George’s hometown, San Antonio, we didn’t hesitate.  Actually, I should say, I hesitated – the cost was not inexpensive at a time when we’re buckling down to save money.  Will didn’t hesitate for a second.  “You have to see George,” he said.  

And that’s how it happened that we had the longest date night we have had since our son was born more than three years ago.  

We sat close together out of necessity, but also melded by the music.  Tears streamed down my face as Miranda Lambert started singing “The House that Built Me” and he wrapped his arm around me, letting me release the tensions of the week…month… year.  

When George came on stage, I turned to look at my husband’s face, and it was lit from within.  He was smiling.  

He was singing. 

I remembered how much I loved hearing him sing over the phone, his beautiful tenor giving shape to notes for songs I didn’t know at the time.  I had listened to the words he chose and appreciated the messages he was trying to get across.  I remembered the joy of falling in love again after being hurt so deeply, and I remembered clearly the happiness that radiated from him when we were together. We left the arena still holding hands.  I left the next morning on a business trip with a better outlook.

Sometimes, it’s a little walk down memory lane to remind you what brought you together in the first place.

Maybe if each of us can just hold on until the next memory reminds us why we fell in love. 

Maybe every marriage has a happiness trigger to bring you back to where you want to be.

Maybe, if you’re stressed and struggling, you can look back to see where love began and renew it.  

Maybe, love was there all along and you must brush away the debris and clutter of everyday life to see it. 

There it is.  

Love,