After the loss of Celta, I doubted my ability to love again or succeed as a social worker because I had my own problems so how could I help others. What I couldn't predict was that I would fall in love and discover just how amazing it would be to live as husband and wife, to love and be loved.
Moving to Wilmington for a technical writing job was what I needed to get back on track.
I was sacrificing the chance for a higher salary as an engineer because I felt compelled to assist others. Engineering held no real value for me, no matter how much money it could bring. The satisfaction of helping people through my work was more important to me than any salary or title. Plus, I would never get hired because I wasn't an actor and couldn't convince a would be employer that I was interested in any engineering job.
Because of my increased confidence in my ability to write poetry, I forced myself to attend the first of many open mic poetry readings at the Coastline Convention Center and committed myself that first evening to getting in front of others and sharing my poetry. I was aware that therapists have to lead therapy groups, so I better get used to being the center of attention.
The emcee was Dusty who was like a mother figure to me - kind and welcoming - this might have made it easier. After that first event, I started attending the readings and sharing my poetry every Sunday.
I started reading poems about the grief and loss of Celta and didn't think I would ever find love again. I wrapped myself in the warmth and comfort that was created on these Sundays. This reflected my personality and desire to nurture experiences like this for myself and others.
Life should be like that for everyone - welcoming and nurturing.
While attending these events, I felt a new breath of confidence that was new. I wondered if it had to do with the experience of being loved by Celta. Despite the loss, the memory of someone seeing me as that special was transformative.
I met someone who was interested in me. I somehow found the courage to ask her out to attend a large poetry reading that was going to be held on Carolina Beach. This was a bigger event than the regular open mic events where I met Lynn. To my amazement she accepted my invitation and gave me her number.
On that first weekend together, at the close of a vibrant 4th of July, when someone she knew casually inquired if I was her boyfriend, she replied, "no, we are just friends." I swallowed the sting of her words, convincing myself it had to be enough, for fear of upsetting the uncertain nature of this relationship. I let the currents of our connection carry us where they may.
But soon, the tide would turn. Before I even needed to label the relationship as more than friendship, I relentlessly demonstrated my devotion by making myself perpetually available, every single day. She was acutely aware that she was the sole focus of my affections.
Lynn was breathtakingly beautiful, a beacon of light that emerged from the shadows of loss and pain. In the wake of a heartache, something extraordinary began to blossom.
Each moment with her was a testament to a life filled with joy, excitement, pleasure, and tranquility. I believed that this profound happiness and serene peace would be mine for ... forever in so much as I could think about that concept. Each moment was like eternity.
The first kiss was electric, searing itself into my memory with a force I could never have anticipated. It happened on the beach, where I had commanded my restless thoughts to silence, urging myself to exist solely in that moment. The crashing waves harmonized with the tranquility we shared, and suddenly, as if conjured by some unseen force, everything changed. There was no need to dissect our relationship status or analyze our feelings; the moment simply unfolded like a spell.
Our faces instinctively turned towards each other, eyes locked in a gaze that spoke volumes, a silent invitation to close the space between us. My face angled slightly to the right, and hers mirrored mine. We inched closer, drawn together by an undeniable force.
Our lips met, and remained pressed together, taking me somewhere I had never been previously. Her arms wrapped around my back, pulling me into an embrace that made the world fade away. If there were others nearby, they ceased to exist in my awareness. This public display of affection felt destined, intensely right.
A year had passed since a forgettable kiss on a date, one devoid of the magic and meaning that Lynn and I discovered in that fleeting moment on the beach. Our kiss was shorter in duration, yet it surged with an intensity that eclipsed anything I had known.
Her mother's retirement home, a sanctuary that was often empty, became our refuge. Even when her mother or stepfather were present, it didn't matter; our connection transcended their presence. Each day was punctuated by intimate and fervent kisses on her bed, an exploration that was both exhilarating and tender, yet never ventured further.
Then came the pivotal moment when I handed her the engagement ring. We had selected it together, a symbol etched into our future. The lady at the jewelry shop, with a knowing smile, mentioned:
"Your fiancé can pick this up Monday."
Time stopped and I thought, "This is real. This is really happening to ME."
She was already aware that I would have it in my possession when I arrived on Monday. As I started to speak—"I..."—I witnessed her face transform.
I saw tears of joy.
The sight stunned me. How could she be this moved when she knew exactly why I was there? But these weren't just tears—they were an outpouring of pure happiness that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than expectation.
I was overwhelmed with profound wonder, a joy that filled every corner of my being. I had the power to bring HER this kind of undeniable bliss. The tears were real. The joy was real. This moment-this was the happiest moment of my life.
Before I knew it, we were kissing with a passion that said everything words couldn't capture, there in her bedroom where I had always felt the weight of wanting to do only what she wanted.
Later, I would hear it said that every woman dreams of being proposed to on bended knee, but in that moment I was going off pure instinct. I had been about to said "I got this ring because..." but her tears stopped me. In the spirit of our egalitarian relationship, we had decided together that buying a ring for her was the next step—I didn't need one because I don't wear jewelry.
Peace and joy were what I had found.
Helping people to heal as a therapist was another dream of mine that I was awaiting. It was obviously different than an exclusive relationship with a life partner but playing a transformative role in the lives of others was part of my dream and part of what I knew I wanted.
After getting engaged, Lynn's mother offered to buy us a house where we could live as husband and wife.
During our years together, it was amazing. I loved giving gifts and sharing my love for Lynn with others, even complete strangers. It felt spiritual. Even though I am shy, I still wanted to share details about my life as if I had discovered something full of awe and wonder and I wanted others to know about how good life could be.
We argued quite often - never physically, always with words - but that was ironically what made this relationship healthy. I had learned that conflict didn't mean abandonment; we could disagree and still love each other deeply. If I said something hurtful, I would make amends right away.
In one instance, we were "fighting" about something and not talking for a while. We still went downtown to a book release event for a mutual friend, Jean Arthur Jones. Lynn and I took a seat upstairs with my brother and his son-to-be-friendly wife with us. I went downstairs and got two copies of the book and asked Jean to autograph one for Lynn, which he gladly did. I then got a glass of iced tea just the way she liked it.
Then I came upstairs and walked around and next to Lynn, placed her iced tea next to her and then handed her the copy of the book saying, "this is yours. Jean autographed it for you."
Lynn's face lit up with a smile as she said with amusement "I can't stay mad at you when you do this."
I quickly responded, "well, just because we were mad doesn't change the love I feel for you."
Suddenly Lynn and I were catching up on lost moments of appreciation for the evening we were sharing together. My brother noticed he was unintentionally being excluded, and he went off to another place.
For years we lived as husband and wife. I never took what I had for granted. I certainly never did anything that could cause Lynn to love me any less than what we were sharing.
It never made sense to me the way some people do things to their spouses because they think that they have them and they won't leave. I heard a friend - whose name I'll keep private - say that her husband had punched her. I was shocked and could not relate to that. She explained that her husband 'thought he had her and she wouldn't leave.' That kind of thinking never entered my mind. There were moments when my past would surface unexpectedly. Between the age of 28 and 30, I still had nightmares about the physical abuse from my parents which would have ended by age 18 when I went to college – 10 to 12 years earlier.
In that state between sleep and waking, I thought I was literally punching the bed and might have accidentally hit Lynn who was right next to me in bed.
I noticed that I had awakened her.
"Did I hurt you?" I'd asked frantically, my heart racing.
Lynn would hold me close, her voice gentle and reassured: "It's okay, sweetie. No, your arms weren't moving. You didn't hurt me. You just yelled out."
She just held me in a nurturing way. Sometimes I would enter a fetal position facing away from her but our bodies touching, her arm around me. It was serene. There was always a moment of her nurturing me back to comfort and sleep.
This experience of love is a story in itself. I truly couldn't imagine it ending.