That first date he took me to a tiny, romantic Italian restaurant. Then we walked around the botanical gardens in downtown Oklahoma City. Our first hug, after so many years apart, had me weak in the knees. I hadn’t dated anyone in so long, or even been touched by any man. Now, here he was…
Before our date the one rule I told him was: I wanted to take a kiss off the table for the first date. I just didn’t want the pressure hanging over my head of will we or won’t we. I wanted to vibe in other ways and not worry about the physical.
Yet, as we were walking around those gardens, I felt something change. I looked him in the eye. The only words I could get out were, ‘On the table.’ It took him exactly .5 seconds to lean in for the first kiss. Fireworks. Different because it was now, but also those same familiar lips I’d kissed one hundred times before. From this moment forward, we were never apart.
One year later, we had another kiss in those very same gardens. As we joined, with our kids by our side, to finally become husband and wife.
Yes, the journey of love after widowhood wasn’t easy. The past rearing its head, on both our ends, has been tough at times. Trauma continues to come when I least expect it, and he’s quickly figured out how to be tender when I need it most. But I wouldn’t change a thing. For every time I’ve gotten scared and wanted to push away, he’s ran after me with all he has. Always respectful of my loss, never phased or afraid. Every time I was scared, he would hold me tighter and tell me, ‘It’s going to be ok.’ He was right – it all has been ok.
