5,845 Days
There I was, nearly falling off of a plastic-cushioned bench seat at Souplantation, when I realized I had fallen. It wasn't the love of writing his name 100 times in my journal; it wasn't the performative love I had ever given before. When I came up from that seat, I knew my life was different. He sat across from me with a fork at his lips, the smell of warm apple crumble hovering from the plate between us.
"It's the texture, it's so gross!" He laughed as he poked at the apple with a butter knife. This beautiful human's utter disgust at the texture of cooked apples - I had never laughed so freely in my life.
It was raining the first time I told him that I loved him. Sitting safe in our little sanctuary of his car, I had intentionally put on a sweet, almost syrupy, love song. Love made me hazy, so overwhelmed with hormones that were new to my brain. My heart took over all of my thoughts of how to act casual with something so monumental as feeling love for my first time. The song saying: "Do you mind if I'll always love you?" and my heart pleading "please don't mind." That night, with rain gently tapping on the roof of his 2005 Volkswagen GTI, I believe I whispered "I love you," and he responded "I love you."
We said "I love you" the first time a little over three months after we had met. We estimate to have said it thousands, if not tens-of-thousands of times, in our 5,845 days together. We have now known each other sixteen years, and he recently didn't feel ashamed to admit he fell in love with me the first day we had met. I had to be certain that it would "work out" before I dared say it. But, over the years, I've tried to define what "working out" would look like. Every Disney movie says it's "Happily Ever After, The End." What is happily? How long is "ever after," exactly? I have not spent 5,845 days in an angelic stupor over my love for him. But his lips, his goofy smile, the large, deep ocean of his eyes. The haze is still there, despite my brain having become so much more used to the feeling. Despite how many times we've said, and not said, "I love you."
The first time he shattered my heart, I sat on an itchy forest green sofa that had come free with our first apartment together. I stared at my hands, trying to envision the dreams we had built, sitting in a confusing pile like mismatched puzzle pieces. We had known each other just under 1,000 days. He lied to my face. The question cracked the deepest parts of my heart: "could I ever trust him again?" And he cried large tears and confessed a deep hatred for himself. It would have been so easy to leave him and that 600 sq. ft. apartment behind. I would have been spared years of this feeling of having to inspect the edges of his eyes for any shimmer of mistruth. After a lifetime of lies and cruelty before him, it was betraying of who I am to keep on trying with him. But, I did.
On a unremarkably sunny day in Orange County's late January, over 4,000 days and 2 kids together, the love I had burned like a forest fire. He, again, lied to my face. I already knew to look for the cracks. I found out about the text messages before he ever thought to tell me. There were words meant for me in those messages. "Love." It was only ever texts, since he worked from home and he was always present. But, he had actually absconded with all the caring devotion I had poured into him, and gave it to another. My head spun, and the world became ugly. We had just gotten through the horrifying tragedy of COVID, only to let the awfulness infecting the world dig into our most sacred of spaces: each other. The greed and distrust of the world had finally found the crack in the empire of love we had built on compromise, compassion, and growth. The scorched earth of our memories left me an empty shell. The fire had started long before, even if we were determined not to see it.
After the first lie, several smaller lies were commonplace, as if testing the waters. Insincere about money, silent about problems, abandoning in times of need. But we bore the trouble of a difficult pregnancy together; he slept in a chair while I was in the hospital for three days; he cooked, cleaned and cared for our children as I pursued my dreams. But the lies still choked the edges of more than a decade of failures and triumphs - those things Disney never prepared us for as children of the 90's. Love is simultaneously the easiest and most difficult thing anyone can do. The lies were always the shadow dragging us back to loneliness, despite our love trying like hell to fight it off. Until the big lie, when every memory we had shared in our life together was brought to question, and I realized he had built a different world than the one I'd occupied. I was truly seeing it for the first time. There was no coming back - love was total, there or not.
I've realized that it is possible to love and hate someone in the same breath. I wanted so desperately to punch him and not stop until I was satisfied. The rage built within me like a volcano spewing fire in every direction. I would cast insults at him, but call him every night we were apart just to hear his voice. We sat together on the patio crying over glasses of cheap wine. All the while, I wanted to see him hurt like he had hurt me. All the while, I wanted to hold him. To say I didn't still love him would be to disqualify my hatred of him. Our separation lasted 80 of the worst days of our lives. Everything in me had burned. Except the tiny, irritatingly beautiful weed of that haze that never seemed to disperse. I wonder if it ever will?
Happily ever after what? After we met? After we married - five years and a kid after we met? After he lied? After he cheated? After I slapped him? After he went into therapy to overcome the biggest challenges of his life? After I learn forgiveness, one day? After 10,000 days? "Happily" only exists on a moment-by-moment basis; ever is a lot to promise any one thing in your life. We change, we grow, we learn. There is no perfect condition for love, especially not in a world where it's just cheaper and easier to get something else. Investing time and effort into something that will break again and again, instead of running toward "forever new" feels like a distant memory of years gone by. But, forgiveness gave me four of the best years I've ever had. Forgiveness gave me two kids that I adore. Love is about always choosing love. There is no forever, just the choice.
Happy 16 years to the most complicated, intelligent, hilarious, messy, and caring complete idiot I've ever had the privilege of knowing. Here's to tomorrow. Maybe yes, maybe no.
