The first time that I got married, I married for all of the wrong reasons. I was young, fresh out of highschool, and I wanted a wonderful, perfect family life filled with children and I wanted it now. But after three short years and many troubles that marriage quickly ended, leaving two small daughters and an uneducated mother, struggling to make it on her own. It was during those years that I fell in love with Jesus Christ as well as my life and my children. My realization that there was a God, a God who would love me always and forever helped me grow into the mother I wanted to be while searching for a man who would not only be a helpmate, but who would be a Godly father to my daughters.
Enter Bill. Bill was the most wonderful friend any woman could ever want. He was warm, thoughtful, affectionate, humorous, and God loving. And although he was poor as a church mouse, what he lacked in finances, he made up for in ingenuity. And soon we fell in love. I married Bill knowing that we could never have more children and knowing that he had a heart defect that would eventually end his life early. Trouble was, I never let myself believe that he would die. Because I lived what I considered a good, clean life, I assumed that God would give me the life that I felt I deserved. But, after three short years, many happy memories, and a family life that any woman or child would want, Bill died on a misty day in November 1990 in front of myself and his best friend Tim while having lunch at a local restaurant.
Death was new, unfamiliar territory, and I was frightened beyond my beliefs. I was mad at God, the universe, and anything I could think of. Plus I was in the midst of raising two small girls who were as dumbfounded and ill equipped to handle Bill's death as I was. I was struggling those first few months; emotionally, physically, and spiritually. There were days when I was sure I wouldn't make it. Yet, my children and immediate family as well as Bill's family were such a tremendous help in so many ways that I couldn't help but start to think clearly and at least function.
And then there was Tim, Bill's best friend. To say that I couldn't stand him, would be an understatement. The guy was a chauvenistic, humorless, calous jerk, who up until Bill's death lovelessly referred to me as the "old ball and chain". I went out of my way to not be a part of he and Bill's friendship- that suited Tim and that suited me. But after Bill's death, there began to be a side to Tim that he had kept carefully guarded from the world. A side that was so respectful, honorable, kind, giving, and loving that a deep seeded friendship formed eventually leading to love.
Our love affair was one wrought with many emotions as I was still grieving my husband, yet felt a connection with this man who went out of his way to make sure the girls and I had everything we needed both financially and emotionally. He stopped by every evening and made sure we were safe. He paid all of Bill's hospital notes (over ten thousand dollars worth). Bought us a car and insisted I not worry until I could afford payments. Anonymously bought the girls and I gifts from Santa. He made sure all of Bill's affairs were in order from his death. He took me to the hospital when I thought I was carrying Bill's child shortly after his death and stayed with me until my mother came. He helped me through the grief and he helped me to see that eventually life would and could go on and that I deserved to be happy.
What Tim didn't share until much later was the fact that Bill had made Tim promise to take care of the girls and I if anything should happen to him. Late one night when Tim was leaving after briefly stopping by (he worked second shift), I went to let him out and as I did I saw my reflection in the mirror directly behind him. I didn't like what I saw. I saw a woman depending on a man, souly because she was afraid to face the uncertain future that life had dealt her. "Tim, you have to go..." I stammered, " and Tim, you cannot come back here. Not for a long time."
Tim's face got contorted and his eyes misted with tears, "What? What do you mean?"
"I have to do this myself. I have to face the world on my own. because if I don't , I'll never know if I can," I answered trying hard to sound grown up and self assured.
Tim got very quiet and then he whispered, "you- you can't do this. I- I promised Bill that I'd look after you. That I'd make sure you were okay."
I opened the door, and helped him out, "I am okay, or I will be. Please just let me do this alone...." and with that last remark I shut the door on Tim, turned around with my back to it, and wept. I watched as Tim slowly walked across the street, and I felt a burden lifted of my shoulders. We could do this my girls and I. We could, or at least I hoped we could.
Sometime later, Tim stopped by and took me to lunch. I had been crying most of the day, was barely dressed in sweats, and had no makeup on. As we turned to go into the restaurant, he placed his finger under my chin and said, "You know, you're really beautiful..." I about fell over. And that was the start of the most meaningful relationaship that I have ever experienced then and now.
I eventually committed to Tim, not for all of the things he did for us, but because I knew the depth of love he had for Bill, the girls, myself, and his Lord. He has shown me what real love is...for it is not the racing of the heart "ooooh I can't wait to smooch with him" (which I really still have this feeling after twenty-one years), but the longtime committment of a friendship that will stand the test of time. So in good times and bad, facing the miscarriages of four children, the adoptions of seven children, the marriages and subsequent births of our grandchildren, and the suicide of our son- that we are able to still look into each other's eyes from across the room and know, just know, that life is okay- that we're okay- and we will live "happily everafter"....
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