I met my husband, J, almost nine years ago at a bar in Atlanta. Now with a courtship, a wedding, two kids, a house and a few job transitions under our belt it is sometimes hard to remember what I felt like when we met.
To be honest, as someone who relishes and craves alone time and a space of my own, I have to admit I'm still adjusting to having a constant 'roommate'. Yet, as I reflect on our early times together and remember the excitement, the wonder and the elation, I do believe it was magic that we met.
Of course the coincidences float back sometimes:
* Neither of us frequented the place we met prior to the fateful night.
* As we got to know each other, it was apparent we had been at many of the same parties and events.
* Stranger was that his family (a solid Midwestern bunch) were avid Yankees fans - a plus for a girl from Jersey.
* It was even odd that my mother said he reminded her of her father - a man who died when I was very young.
Yet this morning as I was getting ready I caught my back in the mirror and saw the true reminder. I happen to have a big ol' mole on my back. It's not something I was especially fond of in my life - if it had been on my front side I probably would have removed it.
But J has an exact replica on his back.
I know you are thinking . . . yikes . . . she sees moles as a sign of fate . . . what's up with this gal?
But it is true - whenever I see one of our moles I am reminded of my connection to J and oddly wonder if our children will grow up with a similar, physical expression of their link to us and our love.
I do believe it is magic. . .
No comments:
Post a Comment