Tomorrow will mark six years to the day that Todd moved to New York and thus the day we call our anniversary. I’ll be in another time zone, another country and will be concentrating on forgetting everything here and having a fabulous time in Barcelona so I won’t be writing about it so here’s what I wrote last year (updated for accuracy)
Six years ago today.
He pulls into my driveway in a 1990 Toyota Forerunner that has over 200,000 miles on it. He drove across the country in that thing. In the back of the Toyota are his life’s belongings. He’s not much for accumulating things. A television, a turntable, books, DVDS, his laptop, a few pillows and blankets and clothes. Not much else.
He’s home. But not home, not yet. He’s here. New York. In my driveway. He gets out of his car, stretches a bit. We embrace and then we stay like that for a few minutes, both of us knowing that our lives, in that moment, have changed.
We go in the house, I have things ready for him. A sandwich. Grape soda. A place to put his feet up for while. We talk about his trip. We sit quietly and don’t talk about anything. We don’t talk about how this is a beginning. We don’t talk about how nervous we are. We don’t talk about how relieved we are.
We ride in the Toyota to his apartment, just blocks from my parent’s house, on the street where I lived a disastrous life for about ten years. It takes us only two trips each to unpack his car and bring his entire life into the studio apartment he’s renting. I’d already stocked it with food, drinks, everything he’d need that he didn’t have crammed into his truck.
We lay on his bed and don’t talk about anything. We’re tired. We’re content. We fall asleep in his new apartment in his new state, in our new life. We wake up in semi-darkness.
"So this is it," I say.
"This is it," he says.
We both smile.
Six years later. The Toyota is gone. The California plates are gone. The apartment is gone. We have a home together now, our home. We have settled in to a life in which my family is his family and his family is my family. He’s no longer scouring the want ads for shitty jobs to tide him over until the big one comes along because the big one is his. I’m no longer drinking myself to sleep. Things have happened in six years. So many things. We’ve changed. We’ve moved on. We have healed. We have become better. We’ve become whole.
Four years ago my daughter said to me ”He made our house a home.”
We have become better.
He’s taught me a lot of things in these six years and while I was going to say he taught me how to love, that’s not entirely true. I knew how to love. Not always the right people, but I knew. What he did teach me is how to be loved. There’s a big distinction there, an important one.
Six years. I could really go on and on about all that has happened in those six years, about the changes and the adventures, the great times that make lasting memories, the not so great times that helped us learn and grow and all the laughs and the tears and the sweet little moments but it’s all here in these pages in words and pictures. It’s a story that is still unfolding.
When I wake up tomorrow in a hotel room in Barcelona with him next to me I’ll think, this is it.
And I’m grateful for everything that it is.
Here’s to lasting happiness.