Not all stories are remembered the same, especially when love is involved… or what you may have thought was love.
Time has a way of embellishing as much as it does for forgetting. Perhaps this is both a burden and a gift.
“It’s hard to compete with the memory of someone who is no longer in the picture,” she told me.
“Explain,” I said.
“Being with John at this stage in my life has been a tremendous blessing. I never could’ve imagined that my best love would come in this later season of my life,” she said. “If I had known growing older would have brought me John, I would’ve wished for wrinkles long ago,” she said, laughing a little.
I have met with this woman several times since she first contacted me. She considers herself old, even though we are close to the same age, so I have to wonder if one of us is not being truthful with ourselves. This thought makes me smile, as I feel much younger than the woman who looks back at me in the mirror. Most days, that is.
“John trusts me with everything, including his past. He tells me that I know him better than anyone ever has, and I take that seriously as this is the type of trust true companions should share. I accept all of him, including the stories that don’t include me,” she said.
“You appeared a little sad. Why?” I asked.
“Hard to explain. I believe John and I had to go through many years of learning and unlearning before we could find one another. I believe God always meant for us to be together, but we had to prepare for the blessing of one another, or we would have messed it up.”
“Prepare?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m a baker, so I look at it this way: My homemade lemon meringue pie took longer than I will confess to perfect. Everything from the meringue’s peaks to the tartness of the filling takes practice, patience, passion, correction, forgiveness, and love. And even now, each pie I bake tastes a little different. Perfection is subjective, and age has taught me this,” she explained.
“But now I enjoy the process of learning,” she added. “Even the imperfections can taste good. I have learned to love the process as much as I love eating the pie. And that comes from wisdom. For me, that also comes with time.”
“Go back to what you said about ‘competing with someone who is no longer in the picture.’ What did you mean?” I asked.
“Just the stories of his past. I want to hear them; I do. Sometimes it’s just hard to hear the stories that bring a smile to his eye when he tells them. For example, when he laughs, telling me of when he was younger and was making out with a girl he pined over for a long time. They were in a park, and mosquitoes ate him alive, but he dared not stop kissing her.”
She stopped talking as her face flooded pink.
“So stupid, I know. Believe me, I know. When he told me the story, I laughed too!” she said. “It was funny, and I could picture it. And that’s just it, isn’t it? It was also a bit sad because I could picture it.”
“It isn’t stupid. It’s understandable,” I said. “When you find your person, it pangs the heart a little to picture them with someone else, even if that ‘someone else’ is far removed. That doesn’t mean you are a jealous goon. The way you responded by laughing with him tells me otherwise. I think you’re thankful for all stories as they fill in the pages that bring you to the current chapter.”
“And yet, as understandable as it is, I sometimes feel ashamed knowing he still remembers those he once loved as young and beautiful. Their image will never age in his mind,” she explained.
“But I will continue to age before him, sagging parts and slowing down in others,” she continued, with a slight giggle. “He never experienced me young, and this also makes me a bit sad. But, then again, I still hold firm that we were not ready for one another then. Our time is now.”
“You’re right. You cannot compete with memories framed by youth,” I said. “I don’t think you were ever meant to compete. John loves you today, with all your jiggles and giggles.”
“All my jiggles and giggles,” she repeated, laughing. “Indeed!”
She looked at me, smiling, but her eyes revealed deeper emotions.
“I just always want to be pretty in his eyes, but there are days I don’t even find myself pretty. I’m learning this new body, worn with time and yet still full of dreams,” she said. “I’m afraid my dreams and desires will outlast my abilities to do them. And I wish I could do them all with John.”
“Then, I will simply say this: get in the daily habit of creating memories today that you and John can both look back on fondly, knowing that you are each other’s greatest dream come true and desire,” I said.
A tear watered her rosy cheeks, and for the first time during our conversation, I saw her bloom.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.