I’m honored today to share a guest post with you written by a dear friend. She wishes to remain anonymous and I am over the moon to host her here. She will reply to your comments via my username. Please read and share. Her message needs to be heard. And do come back for more soon, as this is just the first installment of a series she will be posting here!
The week before my wedding, it rained.
Huge buckets of water fell from the normally blue sky. My mom, my girlfriends, my sisters, and my fiance worried the storm would destroy our outdoor wedding and reception. They watched me, anticipating a bridal meltdown.
I was in a bubble of peace, an oasis of calm. Nothing would ruin my dream wedding. I knew it would be perfect. After all I was marrying the perfect man.
I met Ford the day before Easter by accident. I was invited to a barbeque by his roommate, a man I’d met online and enjoyed talking to. After a few minutes of awkward chatter, Ford walked into the room. The moment our eyes met, my heart stopped, my mind silenced, and one thought became crystal clear, “This was him.”
I stayed until after midnight, talking to Ford, each topic we had in common making my smile and his brighter and brighter. By the end of the night I was already half in love.
He called and asked me out. Our first date was at a friend’s wedding.
On our second date, he arrived at my house carrying a bouquet of my favorite flowers.
And when Stevie Wonder crooned, “This time when I fall in love, it will be forever. God has answered all my prayers.” while we swayed slowly in the candlelight, I fell head over heels in love.
Ford was focused, serious, and determined in his pursuit of me.
I was flattered.
He asked, once, what it would take to keep me happy.
“I’m simple,” I said, smiling. “Buy me flowers just because, take me out to dinner on occasion, tell me I’m pretty.”
“That’s it?” he asked.
“Yep!” I laughed at the look on his face. “Do you need to take notes?”
“Nah. I think I have it,” he said, not cracking a smile. “Flowers, dinner, pretty. And you’ll be happy.”
Within six weeks we moved in together.
Six weeks later we were engaged.
Less than a year after we met, I stood alone in a room at the edge of a garden, taking a deep breath as I walked outside to where my father stood waiting for me. The day had dawned clear and sunny. A slight breeze lifted the edge of the lace trim on my veil. I walked around the corner of the building and there he stood at the end of an aisle strewn with daisy petals.
He looked at me and started crying, taking great gulping breaths while his brother-in-law clutched his shoulder and muttered, “Pull yourself together.”
I mouthed, “I love you.”
And he smiled.
triumphant trumpets, we stepped down from the gazebo, the train of my dress sending a flower pot over the edge, shattering the clay.
Looking back now, now that I know everything, there were warning signs.
I wasn’t oblivious, though I feel that way now.
I wasn’t stupid, though I feel that way now.
I was simply young and in love, blind to a truth that wouldn’t become evident until nine years later when the decay and deterioration of our marriage caused the facade to crash around us.
When I walked down the aisle that sunny spring day, I looked forward to growing old with the man I loved.
When he stood at the end of the aisle that day, Ford prayed to God I’d never discover he was gay.