And then I met my husband. Intoxicated and intoxicating, first thing in the morning at a football tailgate, wondering why he was even bothering to talk to me. Hair a frizzy mess, beer-in-hand, checking my reflection in a car side door mirror. That, followed by a very interesting conversation while he peed on a car tire. No joke. These are my memories of that day. It was tailgating at Penn State, in the cow fields, and in the pouring, cold April rain. But I was 20 years old, and that's just how some love stories began back then.
I found out later, much later, after we were married even, that he had walked away that day thinking, "I'm going to marry her." It still catches my heart off guard every time he tells me the story. And I wish I could tell you that our love story fell into perfect place afterwards but life isn't always a bed of roses. There were some twists and turns before we finally came together.
And so our love story continues to unfold every moment of every day. I've begun to think this wasn't an accident. That this was intentional and that we are here, together, to learn something bigger than ourselves. We're all put on this earth for a purpose. Mine with his and his with mine. And I was reminded in the wee hours of this morning, when I woke to both of us wrapped in an uncharacteristic cuddle, neither of us wanting anything more than to stay where we were, of just how much I love him.