Three years ago I was sitting in a Caribou across the table from a boy I’d met online. We’d been conversing online and on the phone for close to three weeks and it had finally come to our first date…face to face.
We spent almost EIGHT HOURS sitting there together, talking about everything and nothing, holding hands, staring at each other and out the window, awkward and shy, and by the time we finally left that place, we both KNEW.
The following weekend was Thanksgiving and we spent the entire four days together, we met each other’s families, and said, “I think I’m in love with you.”
The very next week I was railroaded into taking a month-long leave of absence from work. I started to fall apart. Bob held me together.
We spent two full weeks together over Christmas and New Years. I was on my involuntary hiatus from work, Bob had vacation time to burn. It was exactly what I needed.
In January, almost two months to the day of our first date, I moved in with Bob. I moved out of my home of twenty-eight years and into the house that Bob lived in. It was one of the most terrifying things I have ever done, but it was also the best thing for me at that point in my life.
A month later, I lost my job. I got fired because I wasn’t “enthusiastic enough to be [there].” I fell apart. Bob put me back together.
Seasons changed, Bob took care of me while I healed. My dad had two strokes and brain surgery to fix an aneurysm. I fell apart. Bob put me back together.
We made it to our one-year anniversary. Bob and I went to Noodles & Company for dinner and Caribou to get smoothies for dessert. We’re simple like that.
Sitting in the car in the parking lot at Caribou, sipping our smoothies, I asked Bob if he was going to walk me to the door when he brought me home from our date.
He paused for a moment and with a little smirk that usually precedes a smart-ass comment said, “How about I just ask you to marry me instead?”
For the tiniest of split-seconds I thought he was kidding. Then I saw the little black box in his hand. He held it up and opened it, revealing the ring, the ring that I had picked out months before while wishful window shopping online.
I. Was. Floored.
I was truly not expecting him to propose then. I knew he’d ask me someday, but for some reason I had it in my head that it would be far off down the road. It was a complete shock when he did. It was perfect.
Winter came and went. Spring was rough as I went through a major overhaul with my medications. And then we moved. We left behind the slumlord’s house from hell and moved into a much nicer place with fewer roommates.
Summer saw the planning of a wedding. Not a traditional wedding, a Bob and Sara wedding. We do things our own way.
September 19, 2009 we got married by a judge with four guests and a photographer in attendance. It was perfect.
We were married just two months shy of our two year anniversary.
Settling into married life didn’t take much adjustment. Not much changed but my name and our rings. It was fabulous.
Fall, winter, spring…summer came and we finally had a wedding reception. I drove myself [unnecessarily] to the brink of insanity planning our [casual] party. Things went off without a hitch.
Summer flew by, fall brought the arrival of a new nephew and as we approach the coming winter, we’ve arrived at our third anniversary.
Three years.
It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long and yet, it feels like forever.
We’ve been tested a lot, it hasn’t always been perfect or easy, but we’ve never questioned our relationship.
I love him more each day. He is my saving grace. He is my everything.
Happy Three Years, my Robert. I love you with everything I am.
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That’s beautiful!