love story

Over the next four years of our life together, I was becoming successful in my field. I had gained a great deal of experience as a social work volunteer, followed by my jobs in the mental health field before I got my degree. These jobs were as a paraprofessional.

Lynn had been so supportive along the way and nothing would have been possible for me without her support. So, all the hundreds of people who were helped by me owe Lynn a debt of gratitude as well. I definitely needed support. 

I graduated from the University of South Carolina with a Master's in Social Work in May of 1996, but the education of a therapist/psychotherapist never ends.

By the time I graduated of my graduation with a Master's in Social Worker (MSW), I had a job to start in an inpatient psychiatric hospital named Brynn Marr Psychiatric Hospital in Jacksonville, North Carolina.

This seemed like a perfect opportunity because I had worked at "The Oaks" - a psychiatric hospital - as an intern which I mentioned previously in earlier chapters. The Oaks like Brynn Marr were somewhat similar.

I was hired with the title of "Therapist" on the adult unit. I was one of two therapists on the unit. Half the patients were assigned to me and the other half were assigned to the other therapist on the unit.

What I mean by saying that I was assigned half the patients, was that I was responsible for all aspects of their care while they were in the hospital, and I was responsible for discharge planning, also known as case management. That doesn't mean that I did the kinds of things that nurses and psychiatrists do. I just meant that I was the primary point of contact.

The other therapist on the unit, Leslie, had a master's in social work (MSW) like me and she was a Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW).

I had taken the clinical exam right away after graduation and applied for the certification/credentials/license of Licensed Clinical Social Worker – Provisional (LCSW-P). I did this at about the same time I was starting work at Brynn Marr as I had to first graduate from college with my master's degree before I could take the clinical exam or seek that provisional licensure.

There was a substance abuse counselor as well, but he only offered group therapy sessions. It's interesting how lived experience as an addict allows people to work as a counselor without the same educational requirements, i.e., a master's degree.

Our supervisor was more of an administrator than a therapist or counselor.

There were several group therapy sessions every week that had to be run by either myself or the other therapist. We could provide individual therapy as well for each of the patients according to their needs, problems, interests, and diagnosis. I like the idea of a psychotherapist doing most of the therapy groups.

I found that the patients loved to have the opportunity to receive individual therapy sessions with me. This was incredibly good for my self-esteem and my sense of competency. You know that you are doing something right if you are finding that patients want to spend time with you for therapy sessions.

I did have a great deal of flexibility and freedom in offering or being available for therapy with patients.

In terms of group therapy, I had learned techniques in my second year of graduate school. I had observed the skills and talents of Chris Hauge at The Oaks who was a mentor of mine and who supervised me during my second-year internship.

I had picked up a workbook that had a number of ideas and techniques for running therapy groups – some ice breakers – to supplement what I had already learned.

The only problem that I noticed was that the hospital wasn't able to provide therapy services to those who didn't have good insurance. This was a for-profit hospital, and I didn't like the profit motive.

As a social worker, I had been motivated by a desire to help those who are most financially vulnerable within society. So, the idea of not being able to treat those who don't have good insurance didn't sit so well with me.

Later in my career, I would provide psychotherapy to individuals pro-bono. I NEVER wanted someone's ability to pay to be a barrier to my services.

You see this in so many settings. Sometimes it seems that the only people who "get it" when you are needy and need help are those who have struggled and dealt with poverty or homelessness themselves. We feel an obligation to share whatever fortune comes our way or whatever might be helpful.

That wasn't me though. Even before I knew real poverty, I could "get it" and empathize with the most vulnerable people in society.

Let me give an example of what I mean about my own values. There was a patient named Victoria - whose real identity I cannot reveal. She was there for anorexia and complications related to that. It became clear that she did not qualify for any more Medicare inpatient hospital days and I was asked by my supervisor to just focus on a referral for her to get treatment elsewhere.

This was my first job after graduation and so I didn't think of myself as necessarily an expert on eating disorders. However, if she wanted individual therapy with me, I wasn't going to deny her that.

My supervisor also wanted her to attend group sessions every day while she was there. I guess the staff started to think she was "difficult." Whatever challenges she might present, that wasn't a factor in how a patient should be treated.

She had said she felt that this was a hostile environment for her as a result of this. She had specifically asked that I be her therapist and not the woman therapist on the unit who was about my age but may have had a few more years experience than I did.

At one point, this topic of the hostile environment on the unit came up when I was sitting down with my supervisor. I was sitting alone with my supervisor when he asked me, "do you think this is a hostile environment for Victoria?"

I answered, "Yes, I think this is a hostile and non-therapeutic environment for her."

There was a point in the middle of the day when they were going to speak to her - the other therapist, perhaps the substance abuse counselor, the administrator (my supervisor). It seemed like they were ganging up on her. I made sure to be there to support her.

I remember her listening and she seemed uncomfortable, and I felt it too. I had positioned myself so that I was at her side beside her while the others spoke in a way that was confrontational, I felt. Symbolically, I felt it was normal and expected even in this setting for me to represent her interests. 

To make clear where I stood, I said "I have discussed how I agree that this has become a hostile and non-therapeutic environment for you, Victoria."

She was told that she needed to attend groups every day. 

She said emphatically, "fine, I'll go to Bruce's groups and that's it!"

Of course, that made me feel good. I'm not saying that Victoria wasn't a challenge. It just felt good to hear that I had made such a positive impression on a patient. This wasn't the only such experience.

In addition, it bothered me that my supervisor was seemingly implying that I could not provide therapy for Victoria because she needed to go to a place that specialized in eating disorders. And because they were not making money on her stay there! 

It was clear that it was about the hospital getting paid and that disgusted me!

She wanted therapy and would come by my office or I would walk around the unit and she would approach me asking to meet with me.

They seemed to want to just get rid of her since they weren't going to get a great deal of money from her. The master's level social worker that was also working on the unit seemed to have lost the passion that had inspired her to go into social work - that's how it seemed to me. That was confusing to me.

There were some patients like Victoria who had Borderline Personality Disorder, which can be challenging for therapists. I know my co-worker, Leslie, (the other therapist on the adult unit) used this term pejoratively and as their excuse for not being able to connect with and make progress with some patients.

There is a great book that gives the reader a great way to understand borderline personality disorder - it's called "I Hate You, Don't Leave Me." Some people will vacillate between idealizing and hating a person.

I believe this is a result of certain parenting styles.

At times I felt like I was walking on eggshells with Victoria. I felt challenged to demonstrate that I cared about her and was concerned for her welfare. Sometimes she would walk away angry and then come back or get up to go but then sit back down.

I remember her storming out of the office saying "you are just like everyone else, you don't care... I can't stand you."

Then the next day I saw her, and she approached me in the morning as if nothing happened. She just said, "can you meet with me for therapy?"

I answered, "yes, after group."

She smiled and said, "I'll be there for your group, I'm not going to Leslie's groups."

"I know," I answered with a smile of amusement, adding, "I'll see you in a few minutes."

You just have to be thick-skinned and not take things like this personally.

Thinking about being a couple

As a sign of my dedication to helping others and my enjoyment, I want to describe an experience when I was working as hurricane Fran was about to come ashore.

I had to learn to think about more than myself and my own lack of fear of hurricanes. Lynn would be worried about me working late as a hurricane comes ashore.

Lynn was much more afraid of hurricanes than I was. She was from California where they have earthquakes, and I would say that at least with a hurricane the earth doesn't open up like it's going to swallow you. We had debated which was worse a hurricane or an earthquake. To her, the waiting and suspense of knowing the hurricane is coming made it worse.

Anyway, Hurricane Fran was due to make landfall on the Cape Fear River in Wilmington after 8 PM.

I was sitting there talking to Victoria and the hour was a few minutes after 5:00 PM. I noticed a phone call coming in. Lynn had my direct extension.

"This is Lynn, I need to take this," I said to Victoria. I must have mentioned Lynn. 

"Hello, this is Bruce," I said not entirely sure yet who was calling.

"Hi," I heard Lynn say followed by "what are you doing?"

"I'm working," I said.

I could hear Victoria laugh as I said this.

"You need to come home." She said, "The roads are flooding and ..."

I listened to her concerns and said, "Okay, I will leave now."

"Be careful, honey, I am worried," She said adding "I have seen some of the roads. You might not be afraid of hurricanes as much as me, but you need to think about me."

"I'm sorry," I answered Lynn.

Victoria had been listening and she was understanding of the situation. I told her that I needed to go because Lynn was worried, and I said that I would see her the next workday. I wasn't sure if that would be tomorrow, Friday. As it turned out, I didn't come in on Friday after the hurricane, but I did come on Saturday. Victoria was there on Saturday.

Overall, I made good progress with Victoria, but I wasn't able to get her placed in a treatment center for eating disorders. Instead, she ended up moving in with another patient that she had met in the hospital.

Success and Accomplishments
 

It was amazing to me that I was able to overcome the social anxiety that I had throughout most of my life. The only manifestation of this anxiety existed when I had to lead therapy groups. I needed to be able to meet the challenges and do what the job required.

This was the career I had chosen, and I was determined to succeed. The sense of accomplishment that I felt in what I was doing - in being able to lead therapy groups - was rewarding and filled me with joy.

I had come a long way in my journey over these past 12 years!

I would feel a bit of anxiety when I had to run therapy groups, but I found a way to not let it show. I knew that I was talented and had a great deal to offer. This confidence in my competency made things easier for me. I also knew that if I wasn't doing a good job, the patients would have indicated this.

All eyes were on me during the groups, and I realized they were looking at me for guidance and treatment.

People came to my therapy groups and seemed to be getting something out of it and they seemed to want to listen to me.

Four years earlier, when I first arrived in Wilmington, I read my poetry to groups of people. I had stood up in a room and declared my love for Lynn in a poem. Now, I was doing something similar every day on the job.

There was something amazing about the realization of this. Like everything else happening in my life at this time, I didn't take anything for granted. I had a sense of awe whenever I reflected upon these things... and I did reflect upon everything that was happening.

I should say something about the setting... where I was working.

Brynn Marr Psychiatric Hospital was located near the Marine base at Camp Lejeune. Many of the patients were affiliated with the Marine base but not all, obviously.

One might imagine that post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) was a common problem that patients were confronting when they were in the hospital since there are veterans and veteran families. Combat experience can cause PTSD, obviously.

That being said, there were not that many veterans with PTSD that I treated. It could be that most veterans are men and it's harder for men to talk about traumatic experiences.

I saw a large number of women who were patients at the hospital and most of them had no military or combat experience.

I did work with one patient who reported that he thought he might have PTSD due to past combat experience and his fears and concerns were related to events that might have a basis in traumatic events and experiences during combat.

As I listened to him, it became more and more obvious that he was actually suffering from a psychotic disorder.

You have to keep your mind open and listen to others. You can't have pre-conceived notions such as assuming that a story that sounds like a traumatic combat memory is that. The location where Brynn Marr was located did not dictate how I thought about the experiences or patients. In other words, I didn't look for trauma disorders.

Anyway, as I was saying above, I knew that I was good at what I do. I knew I was competent and talented. That's an amazing feeling. I had a tremendous amount of passion for helping others and I had a tremendous amount of compassion and empathy.

My Other Family

I was still maintaining a relationship with my parents and siblings. But I only saw them for part of a day most of the time when they did visit.

I think that when my brother and/or sister came they came for part of the day only, as well. I guess they were too good for us or so it seemed to me at the time. I could be wrong in the way I am interpreting these events.

While I had sought their advice regarding the moral dilemma of living with Lynn and how we couldn't get married, it seemed clear that they understood I had no other options available to me. And it seemed infinitely clear that we were living as husband and wife and that we made love routinely (almost every day).

Then we went to visit for Christmas, and Lynn suggested that we sleep in different beds because we were under their roof. Symbolically, this felt so uncomfortable. It cheapened the relationship, made it seem less than the union of two becoming one body and one soul.

In my mind, we had been married in the eyes of God. When Lynn said that we should sleep in different beds at my parent's house around Christmas, that seemed to only confuse me.

In retrospect, if I had said that they must see us as two people who are committed to one another like any husband and wife, she would have been open to my reasoning. I should have said, "well, if they dishonor our union, I am not going there!"

I should have said to them that if they want me to visit for the holidays, we will be sleeping together like any married couple.

To be honest, our union seemed more holy or special than anything I saw in my grandparents, cousins, parents, or even with my brother and his wife.

I would be so affectionate with Lynn everywhere and all the time. I had seen my parents kiss, but it was so perfunctory. I am not saying that a couple should make out in front of others, but they should look like the kiss says something like Lynn and I did. We took the time to meet each other's gaze and slowly moved toward one another, letting our lips meet and pause for just a moment.

I don't remember my brother ever showing that kind of affection when he brought his wife for the holidays.

I am just saying that as a shy person I was doing things that are not "normal" for a shy person.

With Lynn and me, it was inescapable and unavoidable... for us to hold one another, hold hands. I also loved this because it was a declaration that said, "I love Lynn!"

Actually, I NEEDED to be close to her and feel her body when I was visiting for Christmas. I had felt uncomfortable with the entire arrangement and it sickened me that I didn't protest when Lynn suggested sleeping in different beds.

In my mind, this was not any less holy than the union of my parents, or grandparents, or less holy than any union of any husband and wife. If anything, this was more special than what I had seen. In my extended family, I never saw anything that said, "I can tell they are in love."

You might wonder why I am even saying this, dear reader. It's not to denigrate others but to exult the depth, breadth, and holiness of the union of Lynn and Bruce. 

Intimacy Issues as a Form of Discovery

I do know some things about how couples make love. As a psychotherapist that is something that is discussed. I learned about the male and female sexual responses. I studied master's and Johnson's research on activities that are practiced by couples.

What was unique about our relationship, the one Lynn and I had was that neither one of us expected the other person to have any experience in this area or to be sexually compatible. It was more of an area of discovery for both of us.

Some though not all gay men do enjoy anal sex. Often among heterosexual couples, this is more pleasurable to the male because they think the anal passage is tighter. While some females may want this, it is more common for males to ask for this.

This was not something I was seeking in my relationship with Lynn nor was she.

Speaking of same-sex relationships, oral sex is another way that people express love and is commonly practiced by gay men. I would learn this from my clients. 

Oral sex is practiced quite commonly by heterosexual men and women as well.

Anyway, I knew that this fluid is made up largely of the same components as mucus. That fact made oral sex seem unappealing. Previously, I mentioned when Lynn was in the hospital or at the clinic and she was asked to provide a mucus sample, I noted that I had a weak stomach, meaning it made me queasy.

These observations about mucus meant that I did not expect, nor did Lynn expect oral sex despite the fact that this is "normal" and commonly enjoyed by the recipient and the giver, regardless of sexual orientation. Those who do speak about these things with researchers or their therapists are the source of my knowledge.

No part of our bodies was "taboo" though. We both endeavored to explore anything that would increase the pleasure of one another in bringing about an orgasm. So, we did everything short of activities that would involve tasting each other's bodily fluids.

I felt such incredible love for Lynn that I wanted to demonstrate that in every way possible. I knew she wanted to do the same for me and with me.

But it was more of a case of exploration and discovering what brought us the greatest pleasure and what we were both comfortable doing.

I felt so lucky that this was happening. I felt lucky to know that I wasn't expected to do anything with some level of competency as I had heard discussed when I was a psychotherapist providing couples therapy or with my individual clients.

I felt lucky also that we weren't talking about sexual competency.

Sex was for us a way of expressing our love and it was intense and intensely pleasurable as a result of the love that we felt for each other. 

However, it is true that some people mistake this extreme pleasure for love. There is a big difference between making love with a spouse than just plain sex, though it is easy to get confused by the feelings.

After we knew what activities we were comfortable doing we could offer or ask for certain things. I was still a believer (a Christian), and so I saw this as a blessing, a miracle, and a true sense that we were one body. Our bodies were our gifts to one another. And that was holy! More holy than I could have imagined.

I'm a romantic and I believe in the concept of the two becoming one and are united forever, which is as long as we exist.

As I mentioned, Lynn and I couldn't have a wedding because our combined income might make her ineligible for the state health plan that would cover her treatment.

Okay, so this speaks to just how madly in love with Lynn I was. Anything happening to her was terrifying. I had asked her to marry me, given her a ring, and committed myself to her forever. But without a wedding or a "legal" marriage.

We even tried going to the Catholic church to get married but without a marriage certificate and they would not allow that. The fact that we didn't have a wedding didn't change anything.

If you are thinking that I imagined getting married to someone else someday, the answer is NO! I had found the one for me! Lynn. So, my commitment to Lynn was forever.

Let this all sink in for a moment. We were in a rush with time hoping that they find a cure for Cystic Fibrosis - a genetic illness - so that she would live past her fifties. That's what I needed!

Treatment can cost several thousand dollars per year during good years. Even her mother could not afford that and their good insurance wouldn't cover Lynn's medical care.

What do I mean by a "bad year?" And what was it like in general, even during good years?

Occasionally, she would use an inhaler but that didn't seem to happen very frequently.

I drove her or we drove together to her clinic appointments in Chapel Hill. From Wilmington, that was a drive of over two hours. It happened for the most part only once a year.

They would check her oxygen saturation... take X-rays to see the scarring and the buildup of mucus in her chest.

Lynn was good about letting me sit in on every meeting, such as when she was taken to a room to be examined by first a nurse and then a doctor.

Most of the time we were very lucky because she was so very healthy for someone with this very serious and debilitating disease.

I might have turned away or left a room when they wanted to collect a mucus sample. Lynn understood that I had a weak stomach.

Anyway, so much of this was becoming routine. Most of the time.

I asked so many questions all the time. "What is that dark spot in her chest area that you described in the X-Ray? Is that mucus or scarring?"

The doctor would answer, "well, here is some excess mucus that needs to be cleared, and here is some scarring?"

"Wait, how do we clear that mucus?" I asked.

"Have you learned how to do the tapping?" the doctor asked.

"Yes, we learned about that from the physical therapist." I answered, adding a question "but it's still worrisome."

Then I asked, "What about that device that she is supposed to wear, is that better?"

"Not necessarily," the doctor answered.

Then Lynn said, "it doesn't clear it out for me, I can tell it's still there." Then she turned to me and said, "I told you about the problems and asked for your help the other day."

I felt so guilty. "Oh, my God, Lynn, I am so sorry." Adding, "it's scary for me. I know you need me and I'm trying. I'm scared when you are not well. That makes me feel guilty because I should be there for you... but I get sad and scared about the meaning of these problems."

I paused and added with tears running down my face, "I want a 'normal life' ... and if anything happens to you... I just love you so much, you make me feel good and happy. I can't imagine not having you with me."

"I know sweetie, I have had more time to deal with this," she said.

"Okay, so I still have a lot of questions," I said.

"Okay, ask away," answered Lynn with a smile that said she knew I really cared.

Then turning to the doctor, I said, "so, how often and for how long should I do the tapping to clear up the mucus as it builds up?"

"Well, about 15 to 30 minutes at a time in the evening would be good," answered the doctor.

"And the scarring, that looks big, what..." I could barely get my words out I was so full of anxiety and sadness... trying hard to be strong for Lynn.

It is SO MUCH easier to do this with clients or patients at a psych hospital.

Dear reader, I hope that is somewhat intuitive but maybe I shouldn't assume. I wasn't in love with my clients or the patients I served. We weren't sharing our lives together. They were not in love with me either. At least I hope not – that's another issue for later.

Also, the big secret that I have been avoiding is that Cystic Fibrosis is a deadly disease! I could lose Lynn forever!

My blood runs cold when I think of this as it did at the time. It's interesting how similar sensations can feel so different. When we were at the clinic discussing these matters, I could feel chills running through me... not the kind that I felt at the touch of Lynn's hand or her lips on mine.

I was, for the most part, able to push these issues out of my mind and not think about the reality of it. But on these visits, we had to look at this darkness in our life. Scarring and mucus appeared as dark patches on the X-Ray of her lungs and this darkness on her lungs was like the darkness in our lives.

In answer to the question I posed about the scarring, the doctor said, "her lungs still have a capacity to breathe and get enough oxygen to function in many normal activities."

During the visits, I would learn about how the scarring makes the lungs less elastic and that makes it harder for them to expand and get enough air to engage in certain activities that we take for granted... running, hiking, or walking long distances. And scars don't heal.

So, even if they had a cure that doesn't mean that everything would be fine.

When her health got worse...

There was a time in late 1996 when Lynn had to go into the hospital. Her lung functioning had gotten poorer or weaker and they wanted to put her on IV antibiotics in the hospital.

The doctor had explained that they wanted to go after the infections in her lungs. They had to try some of the latest antibiotics that were thought to be more effective in people with Cystic Fibrosis (CF). They were always learning new things about the disease and people were living longer.

It was scary for both of us. Waiting there in the lobby of the hospital I tried to stay positive and tell myself that things would be okay.

Then she was brought to an inpatient unit that was used for treating individuals with CF.

When Lynn asked me to get her something from downstairs – a drink and a candy bar – I was somewhat glad to have that opportunity. I was struggling to stay still. That's how anxious I was. I had a strong urge to walk. I couldn't sit still hardly. I was also sick to my stomach. That's what happens when I am anxious or scared. I felt queasy or nauseous.

I held her hand as they inserted the IV. I asked the nurse "what is that?" referring to the fluid that was being introduced into her IV.

"This is just saline solution," she answered... adding, "the doctor will give us an order to tell us which medications to give her."

I was sitting on the bed looking at Lynn. No words were spoken for a few moments.

"Do you want a book, or to play cards?" I asked, "or how can we pass the time?"

Lynn asked for a book by Anne McCaffery, one of her newest books that she had not read. Anne McCaffrey is a fantasy writer and I knew that she was a fan of her books. So, I just needed to know the title of the latest book.

"I want to stay with you," I said.

"I understand," she answered. "I am glad you are with me."

"Me too."

I added, "I can just be reading something too, a book that I like, as I sit with you."

"Okay, that sounds good."

"You can go meet my friend Carolyn," she said. This was a friend who also had CF and she lived in Chapel Hill. We were living in Wilmington about two hours away. I'm not sure how Lynn connected with Carolyn.

"Yes, we will see her when you get out too," I said. "Before we go home.

Visiting hours don't usually allow people to stay all night. That night I was in bed next to Lynn, on her left. She was asleep with my arm resting on her stomach or her chest. I just wanted to feel her breathing. We made sure the IV was out of the way.

I heard the door open, and I looked up to see a nurse checking in. She didn't say anything.

This finally ended and she came home. Our life went back to normal.

The life I had with Lynn seemed ideal in many ways. As husband and wife, I saw myself as having achieved the greatest thing I had always wanted in life - a family.

I said that we could not have children. Nonetheless, we were a family now.

My friend Jean commented upon how much Lynn and I argued. I, therefore, feel there is value in addressing that topic.

In an earlier chapter, I discussed an incident that puts things in perspective. Jean was only partially a part of the scene. I think it is worth it to present this event again.

Lynn and I had come to a book signing by Jean Arthur Jones and a video presentation at a coffee house downtown. He had released a chapbook of poetry. Lynn and I had been arguing about something and our conversation was almost non-existent as I drove downtown with Lynn next to me.

After I had Jean sign a book for me and then one for Lynn I then brought it upstairs and of course Jean went on with signing other books for others. He didn't see what transpired next when I returned to Lynn upstairs. 

When I handed her the signed copy of Jean's book, she let her beautiful smile wash over her face as she accepted the book and then a smile as she slightly laughed a bit frustrated because she couldn't stay mad at me.

I had answered, "well, it doesn't mean that I don't still love you." I was commenting on the things that made me mad. It also said a great deal about the fact, the truth that nothing that happened EVER changed the nature of my love for Lynn.

It was an experience that I remember as an epiphany that Lynn and I recognized. Yet it was only one such experience. I would always feel bad when we weren't talking. I couldn't stand letting that go on for hours.

Knowing that no argument was going to divide us was an observation that was profoundly important. It was an absolute truth that we knew! Always! I would use some version of this scenario to break the silence.

As a counselor, I heard clients talk about their relationships. I remember hearing someone say that he and his girlfriend have a "really special relationship." I was baffled as he had described a tension that had existed for days and a distance between them that had gone on for days. That didn't seem like a special relationship at all!

I absolutely could not stand the tension and the idea that Lynn wasn't happy or that I hurt her feelings. Maybe I blurted something out that I regretted. I didn't usually get a gift like that evening when I brought her the book – I just happened to be planning to do that already that evening. At other times I would get close to her and smile, get her to make eye contact. She almost seemed frustrated that she couldn't stay mad.

It almost felt like I was arguing with myself as I was discussing things. I was thinking about old ideas that I had accepted without thought. We discussed everything so we were going to disagree from time to time.

Anyway, some of these arguments came from the influence of religious teaching/brainwashing that I had been exposed to in life. I had embraced certain absolutes as a result of that teaching.

These were not times when we demonstrated disrespect for one another. Sometimes I wonder if some couples let resentments exist and they accommodate them by ignoring the topic just like families consider "politics" to be taboo.

Our Home

We got two cats that we named Tip and Boo. Diane set up a swinging door to the garage so that the cats could get out there to the little box. We both had cars, but we kept them outside because we used the garage for other things. I started to gain some weight and Lynn bought a machine where I could run or walk on it for exercise. I also had weights and a punching bag. Gestalt therapy encourages us to act out our anger but I'm getting ahead of myself.

We bought two ladders, stained them, as opposed to painting. Diane brought a stud finder so that we could put nails in the wall for the bookcases that we were building across the back room toward the right where we also set up a computer. Oh, we got cable internet when that was available.

The backroom to the left would be a spare room with a couch that we could offer a guest if they visited, like Lynn's cousins. We put a larger TV in that room too. It wasn't a flatscreen – this was the 90s!

In the bedroom, we had another TV. Next to the bed, Lynn had the equipment that she used to receive inhaled medications. We both liked Star Trek and would watch that on a smaller TV in the bedroom. I was getting busier and busier, so I watched TV less than Lynn did. Due to Lynn's income limits, she couldn't work as much as I did.

She did sell her pottery on consignment at various places and at certain events. 

For meals, we had been learning to cook together for some time. I wasn't as practical as she was which just meant that she would say whose turn it was to cook or if she wanted me to cook dinner for whatever reason. We handled cleaning the same way. She basically directed me as to how she wanted to see things cleaned.

We took turns emptying the litter which would not be possible if her health got bad. It's not good for her to breathe the dust. I do feel guilty for asking her to do that at all. It was part of my denial of her condition. Some of the cleaning I had to do for the same reason, to keep her from inhaling certain things. Her lungs were not as strong or healthy as mine.

Memories and Dreams of Abuse

Memories of the abuse I experienced growing up were never far from my mind or they were not far enough from my mind... they were not buried deep enough, unfortunately. I was still having nightmares related to the abuse I had experienced in the past.
 

I had been assaulted - verbally, physically, and emotionally. Adding to that the emotional neglect from my parents and it's no surprise that nightmares would find their way into my nights...

In my dreams, I would sometimes be striking out at my parents. There was a point between waking and sleeping that made it seem like I was hitting the bed, punching it. So much time has passed, and I have processed it over the years. As a result, the memories have faded.

What I remember was being afraid that as my hands were flailing about in the bed that I might hit Lynn. That is what I remember! It makes my blood run cold to imagine that. 

I remember that I would describe, to Lynn, the actual memory that was related to the nightmare that had awakened me. This was over a decade since I had left home and so the abuse that I was remembering was still creeping into my dreams. 

Nights with Lynn in bed right next to me. Just as my hands swung in my dream in efforts at fighting back, so did my arms seem to be flailing about in the bed. Sometimes I would be hitting the bed or punching the bed.

I only remember that she had assured me that she wasn't afraid and that my hands had not moved as much as I imagined. Oh, and that I did shout loud enough for us both to wake up. This was happening until I was about 30!

Serenity and Intimacy

What I do remember is an awareness that my desire for nurturance growing up explained why I sought to cuddle so much. I also had tension headaches and some stomach problems. I would rest my head on her lap as she caressed my forehead.

Prior to when we moved in together, though, we had not had sex.

After that things were different.

She knew how attracted I was to her. For Valentine's Day, I suggested that she get a sexy and revealing outfit at Victoria's Secret or some such place. I was so touched that she did this. I felt like she had not usually tried to look beautiful or attractive to the same degree as some females do. She didn't wear much make-up or look like some females that I might otherwise think are objectively attractive. Despite the fact that she was not trying to look beautiful, to me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world and she knew that.

Anyway, getting that outfit, that sexy, revealing outfit, this was my gift. She knew it aroused me. I would find myself unable to contain myself and would get up and gently say "can I take this off?" and she would laugh about the effort she had gone to and how soon it came off.

It seems strange to be talking like this... about intimacy. But it was so new a discovery... every time. I would marvel at the idea of someone desiring me - emotionally, sexually.

These days we see on TV and in the movies and I heard growing up that this was something physical. The closeness that Lynn and I had was something different, mysterious, and an awesome discovery as if no one has known about these things until we discovered these experiences. Maybe it is the creative part of me that is inclined to think these things. - the romantic poet.

What I am hinting at is the fact that unlike the notions I got from family and my other observations from our culture, men don't have to take the lead. We don't and shouldn't make the first move, expecting our wives and girlfriends to agree to what is happening.

With my parents, it seemed like sex was taboo but at one point my mother made some comments that made it seem like it was her obligation to meet her husband's desires. I cannot overstate how different things were with Lynn and me. There was not even a hint of role expectations.

As far as sex goes, Lynn didn't wait for me to bring up the topic of sex on every occasion when we were intimate. It was also not a situation where either of us was expecting the other one to know what to do. We discovered each other's bodies and what felt good. It was like exploring. I guess she didn't direct me at first and vice versa because we didn't know what the other one was comfortable doing.

Unless we were both in bed already and the lights had gone out, neither of us was "not in the mood" much of the time and this was beautiful to me. We could tell if one of us was busy, tired, stressed, or whatever.

I think that is rare. How often do two people find that both are "in the mood" at the same time? Or how often do two people respond to each other as if they are responding in sync? ... No awkward approaches and the other person turning away.

Also, I NEVER remembered a time when a loving glance or smile could be resisted by either one of us. I'm not talking about necessarily anything sexual. Just imagine a couple together and one is watching TV or distracted and the other one looks and tries to get their partner's attention, but they blow them off as if they've gotten too comfortable or some old resentment has been there. Yeah, that song by Carly Simon "Coming Around Again" has a line "I know nothing stays the same." 

No, that didn't happen to us ever. Things only grew in our love and desire for one another.

Returning to the matter of sexual intimacy... All of this is mysterious to me. But sensuality is a good and right thing. Our bodies are our gifts to one another.

And closeness wasn't always just about sex. Lynn would choose to sleep nude signaling her desire to be that close to me.

I was talking about serenity and passion. The former, serenity, implies peace and diminished arousal of emotions. Passion is the opposite. For a husband and wife, passion can imply sexual passion.

Yet, the most beautiful woman in the world, Lynn, could both arouse me with her body next to mine and bring me a serene sense of comfort as we fell asleep. My hands holding her bare breast.

It's important to realize that every person has different erogenous zones and responds to different forms of contact. For some females, the breasts around the nipples are not erogenous. It just doesn't create a response for them.

I had discovered that if I held her breasts and moved my hand ever so slightly, she would respond with arousal. So, if I started getting aroused, I might check to see if she was awake enough for sex. If not, or if she felt like sleeping, she would gently place her hand over mine and say "sweetie, I am sleepy."

She wasn't quiet either. During sex, I would ask at times "did I hurt you?"

She would answer as soon as she could, almost desperately, "don't stop."

If you are thinking that Lynn might have been fragile, that's not it. I just wanted to be sure that what I was doing felt good.

I want to share, in the next chapter, some information about a poetry magazine that Lynn and I created on the web in 1995. This will depict another shared interest that we had and something we did together.

Lynn's mother, Diane, was not burdened by the kind of religious dogma to which I was subjected. That was why she had no problem with buying a home, as an investment and renting the home to us. This was a decision she made after Lynn and I got engaged. This decision by Diane to buy a house coincided with her offer to allow us to rent the home. It was an investment for Diane because she only charged $200 for rent - $100 each from me and Lynn.

I should clarify that Diane clarified that she was doing this for us to live as husband and wife. Lynn was still working when this was done, and I was going to graduate school.

The discussion with Diane about the rent was more along the lines of what we both could afford as opposed to a conversation about two people having separate finances. Lynn and I had maintained our own bank accounts due to her need to qualify for her health care insurance. They look at resources in addition to income. That doesn't mean that either of us had kept anything a secret regarding our bank accounts and how much was in them. I always explained everything I spent with Lynn because she was very practical, and she expected me to do so.

Anyway, I knew that Diane wanted her daughter to enjoy all the benefits of marital life. That meant that she expected us to have a healthy sex life together when she bought a home for us where we could live as husband and wife.

Here is the thing about why I am breaking with tradition and discussing intimate things. It was an issue for me due to some religious brainwashing. Only on rare occasions, maybe 2 or 3 times during the entire many years that Lynn and I lived together did it occur but that was too much. I may have had some doubts about what we were doing intimately due to those "traditional" values. I mostly understood that there was nothing normal about our circumstances and that the moral ideas about not making love outside marriage could not apply in this situation.

That being said, on about 3 occasions I shamefully gave voice to a bizarre concern that we were acting immorally by not being married.

Anyway, it's not like Lynn's mother said something like, "I expect you to have a healthy sex life together." However, there were so many little ways that I knew this. I'll expand upon this below.

That was so refreshing for me. It honestly never occurred to me that any aspect of our life should be avoided when Diane was present. We picked out a bed together. Diane bought the bed for us. She bought a home with one bedroom.
 

That was so refreshing for me. It honestly never occurred to me that any aspect of our life should be avoided when Diane was present. We picked out a bed together. Diane bought the bed for us. She bought a home with one bedroom.

She was there to help us decorate the bedroom and the bath area – one bedroom. A bathroom right next to the bedroom and closed off from the rest of the house. One closet. Things would not have occurred the same way with my family and It's probably why in many families a mother or parents are not present when their son or daughter is furnishing or decorating their bedroom area.

I just knew that if Diane had heard about my religious brainwashing, she would have been mad. So, Lynn protected me in that regard on those very rare instances where I expressed some doubts about how we expressed our love for one another. 

Some of what we did together as we were furnishing and decorating the bedroom was interesting. I wanted to convey my love and desire for Lynn and for her mother to see this.

We shared a mischievous look, a brief kiss, as I gently pulled Lynn to me with her mother right nearby. As we looked at the shower area there was more of the same. I stopped to take in the sight of Lynn imagining seeing her naked body walking from the shower, obviously looking dreamy as Lynn was talking to her mother at this point.

I didn't have to tell Diane that "I am thinking about seeing your daughter naked." We didn't have to say "this is where we will have sex" as we looked at the bed together. To me, I was thinking that I was free to be comfortable about these matters even though Lynn's mother was right there with us and it seemed more important to demonstrate my intent to make Lynn feel good as we expressed our love for one another sexually.

This was happening at some point after we got engaged. Lynn and I had slept together, including at times when her mother had been visiting – Diane still lived out of state at this point and would come and stay in the home where Lynn lived on Wrightsville Beach. When I say we slept together before we moved in together, I don't mean we had sex and so I had not seen all of Lynn, yet. We had not yet had fully nude genital contact. The only erogenous zone I had seen was her breasts.

I had a sense that Diane had a knowledge that this would be how things would work out if Lynn had fallen in love – that if the state knew that she was married she would lose her insurance which was not an option.

I know that Lynn and her mother discussed everything. Yeah, the very specific topic of how Lynn was going to make sure she didn't get pregnant was an issue that I learned about later, but it did NOT take me by surprise.

I felt like I could have stated that Lynn would protect her health but that wouldn't make sense. Diane knew that Lynn was aware of her health concerns.

That conversation about how Lynn and I would make sure she didn't get pregnant did not occur when I was present, but I knew that she wanted Lynn to be happy. This taboo around sex was my brainwashing. I was more afraid of Diane finding out that I had these doubts about making love with Lynn.

I remember a conversation I had with Lynn sometime later. It was about a conversation she had with her mother.

Lynn's health was such that she could not support another life. She had problems with digestion. So, I just asked her, "when you and your mother talk about our sexual relations what do you say?"

Her answer was "she just wants to know that I am not going to get pregnant."

"Okay, so what did you say?" I asked.

"I just told her not to worry ... we are careful," she answered.

I thought "Okay, that makes sense." My response was, "okay," and then I smiled.

"What?" she asked.

"It's great that you can talk about this and that she wants you to be happy."

When Lynn and I had this conversation, we had been having sex for a while. It was beautiful to note that Lynn did not wait for me to initiate sex on these occasions. This reflects the fact that I wanted to know that Lynn loved and desired me.

You might recall that I had been uncertain earlier when we first started seeing each other, about whether Lynn was interested in me as much as I was interested in her. That is what I mean here but in a slightly different context.

Lynn also needed and hungered for closeness. It was an expression of our relationship which this book is about – relationships and connections.

That need for closeness was complicated by the need to make sure that she doesn't get pregnant. It might sound bizarre therefore when you hear her say "oh, sweetie, you are too close" in a voice full of the sexual passion of the moment. It just meant "I can't get pregnant."

I wondered "had Lynn kept the details about how we were making sure that she didn't get pregnant to herself and not shared them with her mother to protect her from thinking about some aspect of intimacy that had to be avoided by us?"

I kept the reality of just how serious her illness was out of my mind as much as possible. 

The title of my book indicates that I am a Clinical Social Worker, or a psychiatric social worker... a mental health professional, and a psychotherapist. So far, this might seem like a love story. It is. However, this story, everything I have written about so far and will describe later is related.

Being able to meet Lynn took a tremendous amount of effort and in a way, this was a story of success. Remember, when I was learning to overcome shyness, back in college (undergraduate college) I was interested in dating, finding a girlfriend, and ultimately having a family?

Self-actualization for me was found in the relationship I had with Lynn.

The same effort to overcome shyness would be crucial in my career including, but not limited to, my choice of career. 

So, we got engaged to be married and our relationship grew.

We had in mind a life together forever as husband and wife. To live happily ever after. This story is a bit complicated though. Let me explain.

Like everyone else, we wanted a "normal life."

The problem was that Lynn was born with a chronic illness called Cystic Fibrosis (CF). This is an illness or disease that may not be known and understood by everyone reading this. It might be hard to understand the impact of CF on our love story.

Cystic Fibrosis affects about 30,000 people in the US, so it's a rare disease. It causes excess mucus to build up in the lungs and digestive tract.

Because of the impact of CF on the digestive tract, Lynn had to take a bunch of pills with every meal and had to use inhalers and other medications to maintain her health. She also needed various medical equipment for health maintenance.

Cystic Fibrosis affects a person's breathing. This includes, but is not limited to, decreased oxygen saturation in the blood and scarring of the lungs. This scarring comes from infections. Because CF causes excess mucus to accumulate in the lungs, this creates a breeding ground for bacteria, and the bacteria cause infections.

Over time, the scarring due to infections grows. This scarring is permanent. Decreased lung capacity then makes it hard to breathe. Lynn had some equipment to clear out the mucus that was accumulating in her lungs. I also learned the tapping exercises to loosen the mucus.

They taught me this at the clinic where we went for Lynn's medical checkups and treatments. I would cup my hands a certain way and tap her back, the side of her chest area, and the front of her chest. Sometimes she would or could do this on the front of her body, in her chest area. However, that can be tiring and so I needed to learn to do this right.

Lynn provided feedback on where I needed to do the tapping. She could tell where the mucus was in her lungs and where it needed to be loosened and cleared out.

She had a persistent and distinctive cough, also, as a result of this buildup of mucus.

Again, this mucus was a breeding ground for bacteria, as I said. So, we had to clear the mucus out.

As it is a genetic illness and she was born with it, it is a pre-existing condition. Maybe if I was able to get a job with a large company there might have been a way to get insurance coverage but even then, that's not guaranteed, and what if I changed jobs?

People might wrongly think that I am talking about the financial burdens of Lynn's medical care. I am not in any way speaking of the potential financial burden of her medical care and how insurance might help with those expenses. Even a so-called good insurance plan is NOT the solution. 

Insurance is all about protection against things that might go wrong and the financial burden that one incurs when this happens.  Take property insurance as an example. You purchase this in case your home is robbed or damaged. You can't buy insurance after your house is robbed and hope the insurance agency will pay to replace the property that gets stolen or damaged. You need to have insurance before your property is stolen. 

I had that happen where I had property insurance and something was stolen. We estimated the cost and value of the stolen item and I was given a check or payment that was based on the current price of similar items. 

So, this was about access to medical care that was crucial for Lynn's survival. I'm not complaining about how expensive this treatment might be. I am talking about the need to guarantee that she had access to medical care necessary for her continued living.

We discussed with the staff social worker(s) at the clinic when she went for treatment or for a checkup. We discussed the state health care plan that covers people with Cystic Fibrosis.

This seemed to be the only option. However, to qualify for this health care plan, her income had to be kept below a certain level. She had to live in poverty.

In addition, as husband and wife, if our combined income exceeded a certain threshold for a married couple, she might be dropped from the health care coverage that paid for her medical care.

CF is fatal, also. It used to take people's lives before they reached 18. However, people are living into their 40s and 50s, and beyond their 50s, now. Obviously, this is not enough! I would likely live so much longer than that. At the time, I told myself that they would cure CF soon.

This is the tragic aspect of Cystic Fibrosis - the shortened lifespan. It's hard for the person with the disease but it's also very hard for a spouse. I mean Lynn was my source of happiness. I was totally in love with her. I could not imagine a life without her.

We had to cherish each moment and live our lives in each and every moment. Dwelling on the reality of her shortened lifespan would deprive us of the experience of a normal life - normal in the sense of falling in love, getting engaged, and living together forever as husband and wife.

Our forever would have to exist in each moment we had.

Now, consider the cost of treatment. It is estimated to be over $6000 per year and could cost tens of thousands of dollars. We are talking about something more serious than our financial woes -  we had to know that she could get the treatment she required - it was a matter of life and death, literally. Even with her mother being married to Bob, which meant that they had a substantial income, they never took a chance on her losing access to the insurance plan. They didn't say "Bob works for a big airline with great insurance so Lynn is safely protected."

Taking a chance on not having access to medical care was not an option. It would be morally and ethically irresponsible.

Lynn was relatively healthy for a long time when we were in our 20s and 30s. Occasionally, she had problems though. She might have to go into the hospital for IV antibiotics. That would bring the costs into the tens of thousands of dollars but I'm getting ahead of the story.

As you can see, this creates a problem in terms of taking our relationship to the next level and getting married.

What does a couple like us do? Just because a woman has Cystic Fibrosis doesn't mean that she doesn't have the same desires, hopes, and dreams as any woman or any girl. People with CF fall in love like everyone else.

I bet, dear reader, that you haven't put that much thought into a scenario like this. Unless you are living with this as a couple, you cannot know what it is like. I mean we wanted to take our relationship to the next symbolic level - to get married. This desire should come as no surprise.

Lynn had to deal with both of these issues - having a serious and potentially fatal chronic illness AND also being denied the option of a normal life where a woman gets married and has a wedding.

It was so painful and infuriating!

How dare we be denied the right to marry just like everyone else!

Occasionally, I would feel guilty back then about having sex without having had a wedding. I didn't like the fact that she called me her fiancé and that I was calling her my fiancée and yet we were having sex. I really hate talking about those moments. I didn't like how it made Lynn feel.

I don't remember what I would say but it would lead to Lynn asking, "do you regret what we do?"

I would always respond, "no, of course not." And I would feel such shame for making her feel like I regretted making love – expressing our love through sexual intimacy.

My sister worked for an insurance company and she may not have supported universal health care. Years later it would make me want to spit in the face of both of them for what I once heard that sounded like an expression of moral and emotional indifference when Mom said "the world's a dangerous place." It was offensive and disgusting.

I wanted Carrie to speak up and say that she had not considered a scenario like the one Lynn and I faced. I may have just misread what I was hearing by what Mom and what Carrie didn't say. At the moment I heard that it was disgusting, though.

I hope to share this book with Carrie and hope she will understand my momentary sense of outrage. I don't hold a grudge about this but it did hurt me.

Also, as I was Christian, I had been brainwashed with ideas about how you are supposed to act sexually. The teaching was that sex should occur only when two people are married. This would be problematic in our situation, obviously.

I had decided I was going to live as Lynn's husband even if we didn't officially get married. Our sacred union would not be denied based on the impossible position that the state put us in. I would say that in the eyes of God we were two that became one as it has always been... one body, one soul... one being. In the eyes of God, we were married.

It's amazing how much this silhouette in the photo above looks just like Lynn.

Before I continue with the story about how we got engaged, I want to share another story.

I wrote love poems. I said I was a poet. Is this a surprise that I was inspired to write love poems?

There was one time when I had written a love poem inspired by my love for Lynn. I decided to share it at the poetry reading. It would be a surprise for Lynn. We went to the Coastline Convention Center together like we almost always did.

It was a Sunday in late May of 1994, nearly two years after we started seeing each other. The sun was sinking low, and the room was getting slightly dark. Dusty had turned on a slightly dim light up front near the podium. The poem was inspired by a story from the old testament and a song by the Electric Prunes called "I Had Too Much To Dream (Last Night)."

I was still a Christian back then. I am an atheist now. Lynn had a belief in supernatural things, but she was not Christian. I laughingly say that I "want to believe" but I am not now an agnostic. I am now an atheist but that was not the case when these events were unfolding.  This might be hard to understand for some people – someone who dreams like me only believing in objective things that I know from science and objective reality provided by my five senses.

Anyway, I thought the title was somewhat unoriginal. "Dream-like Visions from the Song of Songs." "The Song of Songs" is called "The Song of Solomon" by Protestants. I heard the song "I Had Too Much To Dream" when I was watching a movie called "The Believers." Let me share a YouTube link to the song and then I will share the lyrics below.

The lyrics go like this:

Last night your shadow fell upon my lonely room
I touched your golden hair and tasted your perfume
Your eyes were filled with love the way they used to be
Your gentle hand reached out to comfort me
Then came the dawn
And you were gone
You were gone, gone, gone

I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night

The room was empty as I staggered from my bed
I could not bear the image racing through my head
You were so real that I could feel your eagerness
And when you raised your lips for me to kiss
Came the dawn
And you were gone
You were gone, gone, gone

I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night

I had too much to dream last night
Too much to dream
I'm not ready to face the light
I had too much to dream
Last night
Last night

Oh, too much to dream
Oh, too much to dream
Too much to dream last night
Oh, too much to dream
Oh, too much to dream
Oh, too much to dream

Dear reader, I apologize that I don't have the original version of the poem that I read back then. I will offer you a more recent modified version of that poem. While it was used in a horror movie, I like the magical dream-like quality of the song.

You might notice the words "but you were gone, gone, gone." This implies grief and loss. At the time when these events were unfolding, I was blissfully unaware of what would happen years later.

There is little that is more magical than being able to get up in front of a room of people and declare your undying love for another person. I could feel the driving power of the song...

I loved the applause. It was so obvious what this was about! People were stopping me as I walked away from the podium.

I then sat next to Lynn at the table as someone else was about to start reading. I noticed Lynn was doodling. One of our mutual friends said how much he liked the poem. I turned to Lynn and said, "well, what are your thoughts?"

"What?" she said in the form of a question. "I'm sorry I wasn't listening."

I just shook my head and smiled. She added, "I thought you were only reading poems I already heard." I could tell she was embarrassed. Her face was blushing. She added, "Oh, I'm so sorry sweetie. Let me read it."

I handed it to her and turned to face her, moving closer, my arms rested on her chair and I leaned in, tilting my head, and slowly brought my lips to hers... she was too embarrassed to be the one to part lips, I felt aroused as she held my lips there, with her hands on both sides of my face. Just for a moment – there were others.

"It's okay," I said. And with a smile, I added "you know I really love you."

"I love you too, honey."

She then looked down and read the poem.

This would become an inside joke for us. I would kid her about this in different ways... maybe something like "If I share a poem about our love I hope Lynn is listening?"

Her way of making up for this in the future was to read my poem on various occasions when she didn't have anything else to read. She would ask if I had the poem and then share it with the group. I can't count the number of times that happened. It demonstrated her appreciation and recognition of the value of our love.

Here's a recent version of the poem.

In this dreamlike vision
I lay in her lap,
while her hair flows in the gentle wind,
On the beach.

Is this real?
I reach up to touch her
but she is gone... gone... gone
and I am laying on the sand.

Looking skyward I see her
in a vision.
She searches for me,
calling my name, saying,
"I am his and he is mine."

I try to get back
to find her
and that infinite beach
where we would walk hand-in-hand
or lay on the sand
holding each other
together
forever.

The vision -
the dream -
(incomplete)
the love
never ends...

Getting Engaged!

I said, "I also need to get you a ring ..." pausing to let her register it. The next memory I have is of us in a jewelry store.

We didn't plan a marriage at the same time when we were planning to get engaged, though this was definitely implied. Those details could be worked out later and they were complicated by factors outside our control.

We were discussing the meaning of this step for both of us. It was a lifetime commitment to live as husband and wife. It felt natural, right, and appropriate while simultaneously being amazing and wonderful.

Words like "wonderful" and "amazing" are so overused that the full impact of these words needs some elaboration. Let me tell you what happened.

We were in love. Getting engaged to be married is the natural expression of that commitment that was intended to last forever.

I remember we were at a jewelry store at the mall. We explained that we weren't rich when an employee approached. A big diamond ring wasn't a necessity. Again, Lynn was the practical one. About two hundred dollars was what we would spend.

I wasn't much into jewelry but Lynn was and she even made jewelry in her pottery class/hobby.

I had butterflies in my stomach and my heart was racing. I was thinking to myself "this is real. I'm not dreaming. This is real." It was an almost ticklish feeling.

They measured Lynn's finger. I said, "are you sure?"

"Yes, let's get this one," she said looking at the lady.

"Your fiancé can come to pick it up next Monday," the lady said looking at Lynn.

I came to see her on that Monday and by then it felt like a routine day. We were alone at her place on Wrightsville Beach. I had not noticed if Lynn was aware that I had the ring that day.

I laid the bag on her bed and turned as she entered the room.

"I want to marry you ..." I began as I started opening the box. Then I noticed that she had tears of joy in her eyes. It took me a moment to take this in. My first thought was, "you knew I was bringing this" so I was surprised by her reaction.

She placed the ring on her finger, tears running down her face. Then she brought her arms around my neck and brought her lips to mine. My legs started to get weak. I raised her up by her waist a bit and laid back onto her bed bringing her with me, on top of me. My left arm then went around her shoulders. Her right arm dropped down by my lower back. She squeezed herself tightly around my back.

I felt her breasts pressed against my racing heart. Her heart was getting louder as she pressed her lips harder. I could feel her legs on my legs. I could feel the teardrops on my face.

I paused and said, "I am in love."

She answered, "I love you so much."

It was the most amazing thing I had ever experienced. Making Lynn this happy was a memory more intense than anything since. I have never been happier.

She was crying tears of joy and this was bliss! Serene. Then our lips met again, and she moved like she was ferociously hungry... like a wolf might devour a meal.

I remember sitting on her porch upstairs – it was half a flight upstairs to get to where the kitchen met the back porch. She was on the phone with her mother.

There's so much that I left out of this story.

The next phase of our relationship was moving into a home that Lynn's mother, Diane, bought in Wilmington.

I haven't even talked about the career that I was starting. Again, my choice of career was very significant for both of us. I was going into social work and the values that are reflected in that career choice were definitely something that was attractive to Lynn.

I actually had a very busy life during this time period but you wouldn't know that from what I wrote so far... You might think that we were just dreamers in love. But as I noted, Lynn was very practical and that was what attracted me to her. I'll continue to demonstrate this throughout the book.

I've focused on the relationship we had found together - Lynn and I. That connection is so crucial to the overall theme of this book. Relationships matter!

My career journey was taking off as well.

It is undeniable that the joy I brought Lynn was the happiest feeling I have ever known. I say this despite the fact that I feel very passionate about the career I have chosen. I very much like helping others and knowing that I can help another person find healing from emotional or psychological pain or negative experiences.

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 wound 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 interested 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 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 locking 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."

She was already aware that I would have it in my possession when I arrived on Monday. Yet, before I could utter a single word or orchestrate the cherished moment every woman dreams of, I witnessed her face transform, tears of sheer joy cascading down her cheeks. The sight was so breathtaking that it stole the air from my lungs. I was overwhelmed with profound elation, knowing that I had the power to bring HER such unparalleled happiness.

In that heartbeat of a moment, I believed with every fiber of my being that our shared joy and tranquility would reverberate through eternity.

Peace and joy were what I had found. It was as if those two different things (joy with excitement) and peace could coexist at the same moment.

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 but that was ironically what made this relationship healthy and I had developed a stable attachment style. If I said something hurtful, I would make amends right away.

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.

This experience of love is a story in itself. I truly couldn’t imagine it ending.

My life took a sharp turn when I met Celta, a person who would change everything. With no job prospects, I had no choice but to move in with my parents after graduating from Georgia Tech, a decision that almost immediately seemed like a big mistake.

My mother's relentless pressure to find employment weighed heavily on me, her constant reminder that I could go to school at night if only I had a job as an engineer. But it wasn't just her words that stung - for the first time, she actually wanted to spend time with me, only to use it as an opportunity to criticize and belittle me. The toxic atmosphere that pervaded our home left me feeling ashamed and unworthy. No wonder I avoided spending time with my own mother.

I didn’t eat too much food and so I was not a major extra burden on my parents. I wasn’t asking them to pay for graduate school.

I thought I would have a chance to prepare for the next phase of my life. Despite having 6 psychology classes, I knew I had much more to learn, more growth was necessary, and experience in something close to psychiatric social work.

I graduated in 1989 from Georgia Tech, moved in with my parents in North Augusta, South Carolina near Augusta, Georgia. I found out that there was a state psychiatric hospital called Georgia Regional Hospital in the nearby town of Augusta, Georgia. I approached the volunteer department and told them I was planning to get a Master of Social Work degree and wanted to get relevant experience and was willing to volunteer.

I was connected with the lead social worker on the intake unit and I explained that I wanted to get some experience in the field because I was coming from an engineering program which was a radically different type of background.

By the first part of January of 1990, I was a volunteer at Georgia Regional Hospital on the intake unit working for the social work team. I wasn’t just observing or doing busy work. I was doing the psychosocial intake assessments that the social work team did. I was learning what social workers did in a setting like this and I was learning about how diagnoses are made.

I continued to develop my capacity for empathy, my active listening skills, and I noticed that people were opening up to me. This setting created even greater challenges due to the nature of various mental illnesses.

I had met Celta early in 1990 in this same setting. She was in hospital due to her health. She had anorexia. One of the medical school interns had suggested that I could maybe talk to her to understand about anorexia because I had a cousin with that.

Later in my career I might have known and worried more about boundaries. I had not been assigned to do a psychosocial assessment or anything related to my role on the staff as a volunteer.

When I met Celta I explained that I was not approaching her as part of the staff or as part of my role on the social work team. The moment I approached her, she smiled before I could even explain these facts.

Celta and I never talked about her health. She was in the hospital for just over the first three months that I knew her. She would write diary entries of all her observations and she would share these inner personal thoughts with me when I saw her or she mailed them to me.

After her release from the hospital she stayed for a short while in Augusta but then I took her to stay with her mother in Athens, Georgia - an hour and a half away from me. Her father then put her up in an apartment.

I would see her every weekend. I also spoke to her everyday on the phone. It was almost like magic because I couldn’t imagine that love could develop so quickly and in such an unlikely way.

It was not long before I was telling her “I love you” and hearing those words back on every phone call, everyday. I felt such a sense of joy. Something that had always been missing was being fulfilled.

During my Georgia Tech days, I had friends who were couples. I would be friends with both partners. My best friends were Thomas and JoLee who got married to each other. With each of them, I knew I was not the most important person in their lives nor was I their top priority. I suppose there are echoes of the words from my mother speaking about my cousins and saying that “they have their own lives” and that idea existed with every friend I made while I was away at Georgia Tech.

I had still carried the beliefs from childhood when I was growing up. The truth was, I didn't know what love really was. I had experienced some degree of connection or validation from my friends. In my family, I was an inconvenience—something to be tolerated, not cherished. My world had been shaped by emotional deprivation, shame, and the belief that I was fundamentally unworthy of being seen, let alone loved.

Things were different with Celta. I had not told anyone before her those words “I love you” or heard those words from anyone. Not in the way I was experiencing things with Celta.

Celta and I would have a relationship that was just slightly more than platonic with so much time cuddling together, holding each other, walking hand-in-hand. Looking into each other's eyes. 

With this transformative experience, one event stands out. There was a moment where we were having a picnic at the Botanical Gardens. I was talking about something that I didn't think was very interesting but looking up, I saw that she was smiling with delight as she looked at me, transfixed upon me, hypnotized. 

This was just one of many moments… Moments like this transformed my sense of my value and worth to a person. I felt special finally.

As we took pictures in the park, I couldn't help but notice how delicate she seemed. Her mother suggested a pose where I would kneel and she would sit on my knee. But as we got lost in each other's eyes, she started to sway and almost fell into position, her tiny arms and body barely giving me any sense of how to catch her.

I was only 5’7” tall but with her 4'11" stature and her weight of only 70-80 pounds made me worry about how to catch her. Luckily she didn’t fall far, coming to sit on my leg with my soft gentle arms around her side and back. Luckily, I was instinctually very gentle and using instincts alone, faster than concrete thoughts, was able to find a soft way to catch her.

My friend had recently confided in me about the physical abuse she endured from her husband, even though he was not very big but as a guy he was stronger, she said. Indeed, this difference in size and strength was most profound between Celta and me. I was always a gentle person by nature and the idea of causing harm to someone I supposedly loved was unthinkable, as was harming anyone.

Despite the toxic environment at home, all those moments spent with Celta still allowed me to experience something amazing. She brought me immense joy and a sense of the possibility of love which I had never experienced before, and eventually this would open up opportunities for me.

But at home, I was constantly belittled and pushed into mundane jobs, with my hard-earned degree from Georgia Tech being dismissed as insignificant. The pressure to conform to their expectations and take any job available left me feeling small and ashamed because of my education. I would not judge others the way I was made to feel about myself.

In Celta's presence, however, I felt like a giant towering over the negative voices and expectations from my family.

At no time did my parents ask who was making me happy… What I might want for the future… How might I achieve my goals and plans? They were utterly disinterested in anything that mattered to me or made me happy.

I learned about the death of Celta on New Year’s Day, 1991. I cried more than everyone else at the funeral combined.

For the next year and just over 3 months, I lived with my parents. This time without the support of Celta. I did go to a grief recovery group. I turned 25 in 1991, and the other members of the group were older people, mainly ladies past retirement age.

I had various jobs, with only one related to my software engineering degree.

I questioned how I could help others while dealing with my own problems and how I dealt with the loss of Celta.

My mother introduced me to a professor and poet named Martin Kirby, who became my mentor in writing. Through a temporary job offer, I moved away from my parents for the last time.

These experiences with Celta and working at Georgia Regional Hospital helped me continue to make advances made at Georgia Tech in overcoming social anxiety and would be useful for leading therapy groups as a clinical social worker/therapist in the future. Despite the tragic loss of Celta, I gained valuable personal growth.

I met Lynn and started seeing her around the 4th of July of 1992. I had been grieving the loss of Celta when I came to Wilmington in April of 1992.

I found love briefly with Celta and yet she died so suddenly and at such a young age. I was devastated. I didn't think I would feel, or experience love again. Then I met Lynn in 1992. We fell madly, and passionately in love. The poems that follow are about that love. I wanted to tell the story to all those who would ever follow me in the later generations about some epic love to rival any husband and wife or any couple.

We lived as husband and wife and were married in every way that mattered. As a Catholic at the time, I sought the sacrament of Holy Matrimony from the Church, but they denied us—the disgusting attitude that someone born with a debilitating illness should be denied access to the sacred! This treatment of Lynn, among many other harmful attitudes, pushed me away from religion.

Lynn was willing to embrace any way of symbolically representing our everlasting devotion, even though she wasn't Christian. We both wanted to formally move from engagement to the next stage of formal commitment to one another forever. Now, no longer religious, I can see that if the sacred exists at all, no secular piece of paper could make our bond more holy than it already was.

For years we had a normal relationship, and the fact that she had a chronic genetic illness did not define our relationship.

Our love created a sense of tranquility and serenity at its core—a deep peace and contentment that existed at all times, even when I was depressed, which was merely a transitory feeling that would pass.

In its purest form, love is distinguished from addiction, which is momentary and transitory. We do not pursue a high that we once had and cannot reach again—that would be like implying that once we discover an awe-inspiring sunrise we need a more beautiful sunrise to feel that same sense of awe.

Love is also like beauty in the sense that it's best experienced as opposed to merely being stated like some universal truth. Creative people express these experiences of awe and wonder in many forms.

These poems capture more than fleeting moments—they hold experiences where physical sensations became markers of something profound, eternal, and awe-inspiring. Each moment contained vastness, pointing to the spiritual that even non-believers in the supernatural can embrace. They are signifiers of what endures and give ultimate meaning to what really matters.

An Infinite Beach

On some beach
that never ends
I'm with her
and just for a moment
I pretend
that things never change
that sometimes,
in moments like this
we walk hand-in-hand
forever.
This is my greatest desire -
to stop time
like this...
when there is just this place,
just these beach sounds
and just
she and I.

What Really Matters

Moments
frozen in time.

That is what love
seems to be...
these moments you remember
something in these moments
(takes my breath away)
has a certain meaning
that endures -

a feeling...
an image...
something said...
or shared...
certain sounds
in the background...
whatever it is that
you remember
is all that really matters.

Introduction: We walked into the Coastline Convention Center that Sunday evening in 1995, hand-in-hand as usual, overlooking the Cape Fear River where the weekly poetry readings were held. Lynn had no idea I had a surprise for her.

We took our seats at a table with other regulars—all friends and acquaintances who knew us as the couple we were, always like newlyweds, never afraid of public displays of affection. The sun was sinking low, and the room was getting slightly dark with just a dim light up front near the podium.

When my time came, I stepped boldly to the microphone. As I read this new poem, I could sense the knowing glances from people in the room—casual looks toward Lynn as everyone understood what was happening. I wonder if she noticed those glances, waiting for her reaction to this declaration of love.

Dreamlike Visions

In this dreamlike vision 
I lay in her lap,
while her golden hair
flows in the gentle wind,
On the beach.

Is this real?
I reach up to touch her
but she is gone... gone... gone
and I am laying on the sand.

Looking skyward I see her
in a vision.
She searches for me,
calling my name, saying,
"I am his and he is mine."

I try to get back
to find her
and that infinite beach
where we would walk hand-in-hand
or lay on the sand
holding each other
together
forever.

The vision -
the dream -
(incomplete)
the love
never ends...
The dream never
ends.

Follow-up to the poem: I sat back down next to Lynn as someone else prepared to read. I noticed she was doodling. One of our mutual friends commented on how much he liked the poem. I turned to Lynn and asked, "So, what do you think?"

"What?" she said, looking up confused. "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening."

I shook my head and smiled. She was embarrassed, her face blushing. "I thought you were only reading poems I already heard," she said. "Oh, I'm so sorry sweetie. Let me read it."

I handed her the poem and leaned in close, my arms resting on her chair. I tilted my head and slowly brought my lips to hers. She held my lips there with her hands on both sides of my face—just for a moment, mindful of the others around us.

"It's okay," I said with a smile. "You know what... I really love you."

"I love you too, honey."

She read the poem, visibly moved by this surprise declaration of love.

This became an inside joke for us. I would tease her: "If I share a poem about our love, I hope Lynn is listening?" Her way of making up for it was to read this poem at future poetry events when she didn't have anything else to share. I can't count the number of times that happened, it demonstrated her appreciation and recognition of the value of our love.

I explained that the poem was inspired by the Song of Songs from the Old Testament and a song by the Electric Prunes called "I Had Too Much To Dream (Last Night)." I was drawn to the sensual imagery in both—the biblical celebration of love between two people committed to each other, and the dreamlike quality of the song that captured something both beautiful and haunting about love and longing.

In Love

Some would say they understand 
that it is not that uncommon... 
a word that is overused 
because I can't find another word.

People walking past us 
might have seen us holding hands 
they might have known 
there was love.

Yet they would not understand... 
the miraculous experience 
of her hand in mine 
as we walked by the ocean. 
They would not understand 
the experiences – physical and emotional 
signifiers of something worthy 
of belief.

When we sat side by side 
facing the ocean waves, 
hearing them in the background 
seeing them - 
moved by something unseen - 
our bodies were touching 
and the best analogy for what I experienced 
was electrical signals moving 
at each point where our bodies 
our legs, arms, thighs 
were in contact.

This was not merely something 
physically pleasurable, 
not merely biological 
emotional, chemical.

No, I knew that. 
I have felt passion 
but rarely have I felt 
love – though I have been 
mistaken more times than I can count... 
Meaningless encounters 
where the emptiness remained.

That core Self within me 
ready for connection was not 
fulfilled like it was now.

Waves of excitement, peace, 
serenity, joy, clarity 
flowed through moments 
pregnant with meaning. 
Each moment was vast in duration 
each moment held eternity.

I had an epiphany and knew 
what mattered, what gave life meaning 
what filled that emptiness within 
that brought forth the fullness of the 
Self.

The feelings, moving in waves 
were markers of the profound - 
physical sensations that pointed beyond 
themselves to something transcendent, 
something that could not be reduced 
to chemistry or biology alone.

I have known alcoholics that look 
to a higher power. 
I have known the religious who 
speak of a God who alone 
can fill that emptiness 
within.

Everyone is looking 
for what will complete them, 
searching for transcendence 
in substances, in faith, 
in achievement, in escape.

But I have found something - 
I believe in something - 
I believe in love.

I can't prove it exists 
beyond hormonal desires 
beyond biological drives 
beyond what science can measure.

But I know what I experienced: 
love that is true 
and real 
and right...

Love that transforms 
without diminishing, 
that changes you 
without erasing who you are, 
that asks you to grow 
but never to disappear, 
that leads toward transcendence 
while keeping you whole. 
It shows you eternity 
in peaceful moments 
yet never asks you to sacrifice 
the fire of excitement, 
the expansion of joy, 
the sharp clarity of being fully alive, 
the creative force that moves through 
two people connected 
in the deepest way possible - 
embodying what it means 
to be complete 
while remaining yourself.

I Wrote a Love Poem Once

I wrote a love poem once...
I felt it was good -
I remember how good it felt -
the love...
to write the love poem,
to share it,
to dedicate it.
I felt the poem was good.

It was many years ago...
lost - lost in the fire,
as it were,
the love...
the love poem.

I forget how it goes
the love...
the love poem.

 

I just cannot remember
the words I wrote...
but I know I wrote
a love poem,
once...
or twice or more...

I can't quite remember
how it goes -
that feeling,
that certainty,
that desire to feel
that again.

Introduction to Poem “The Whole Story”

Our mutual friend Jean once observed that he saw us argue often, and I was shocked by his concern. Years later, after experiencing a relationship where disagreements felt threatening, where conversations could end with hang-ups, where love itself seemed in jeopardy over differences of opinion - I finally understood what Jean had missed.

With Lynn, I never hung up the phone. When she said, 'I'm not done talking,' I never said we couldn't keep talking. The cognitive dissonance I felt when Lynn challenged my beliefs didn't threaten our bond—it transformed my thinking, because I respected her completely and knew she respected me. Isn't it strange and amazing when you can become so frustrated and irritated in a relationship with someone special but still maintain that pervasive sense of happiness and contentment! Even despite all the fights and arguments, there was always an underlying joy. That is the ineffable nature of what we had—something taken out of context might look like conflict, but within the whole story, it was actually love expressing itself freely.

The Whole Story

Our love is now like an epic novel,
thousands of pages in length, 
with most pages torn 
others burned - in the tragic fire.

 I tried to save what I could 
believing it was worth saving
or worth holding onto - 
believing that nothing dies 
but in the end, 
what do I have? 

 

Just scraps of the book...

Even the ring that symbolized 
the bond of husband and wife 
is gone.

We wrote the book together - 
I remember how it was, 
page after page, 
chapter after chapter, 
lie scattered around a room 
in a forgotten home 
in a forgotten place 
like dark shadows 
under a hazy sky.

Page after page, 
written with a purpose 
written with love.

Sure, there were chapters 
that didn't seem to belong 
or have any purpose that could be understood 
but every part of the story 
had a purpose and place, 
whether good or bad 
within the larger narrative.

This was a story to be told 
for generations to come - 
passed down within the family 
and as part of a cultural tradition.

Looking back, 
at the whole book 
and not just a chapter here 
or there, 
taken out of context, 
you see a theme 
which emerges out of the many 
unplanned chapters.

It was always about love 
and that matters 
more than the quality of the narrative... 
it matters more than 
how things might have seemed 
at any one moment in time.