Only the Heart May Know

Silent sea
Tell this to me:
Where are the children that we used to be?

So begins a favorite song by Dan Fogelberg, the song Dave and I chose for our wedding dance. The words were especially meaningful for two people marrying for the first time in their mid forties.

After not dating for a long time, about ten years ago I decided to dip my toes tentatively back into the water. Dave was one of the fellows who responded to a personal ad I placed online. I met several nice men, and found no fault with any of them. But while I enjoyed the companionship, the conversations, the movies, the dinners, otherwise I felt nothing. I wondered if something was wrong with me. Maybe I had waited too long, maybe the bloom was permanently off the rose.

Then along came Dave. We planned to meet at a restaurant in west Denver on a snowy evening in March, the first day of spring. Because of the weather, I was certain he wouldn’t show. But there he was, waiting for me. I did most of the talking that night and Dave listened to my ramblings as if every word was more important than the last. We made plans for a second date to see a movie. In the theater, Dave put his arm around my shoulder and instantly I felt that schoolgirl sensation of butterflies, something I had not known for ages. It turned out that my autumn rose was still capable of producing a bloom.

After about a year we began to talk about making a commitment. Even though we were nearly inseparable, we maintained distinct and solitary lives. We shared some of the same misgivings. Here were two people, never married, accustomed to solitude, set in our ways. Would it even work? At last we both felt ready to make that leap, to leave our solitary paths and head down a new trail together. A custom ring was created with the diamond from my mother’s engagement ring, surrounded by sapphires, Dave’s birthstone. We were engaged on Valentine’s Day.

I had long carried with me a young girl’s dream to marry in a mountain meadow somewhere, flowers in my hair, perhaps some native wildlife serving as silent witnesses. That was certainly not going to work now. My brother and a cousin schemed to turn this occasion into a reunion of sorts, a chance for our family to see each other for a reason other than a funeral. Most of the people attending were from far away, and many were elderly or disabled. So instead of the meadow, we opted for a more traditional event at an all-inclusive wedding site in Genesee.

Dave set about creating unique invitations while I wrote a personal ceremony, something from the heart that conveyed the importance of this crossroads in our lives. We both worried about speaking in front of a crowd. As the list of participants grew, Dave’s only request was that I keep the words we would say to a minimum. Keeping my promise, the vows were short and sweet.

Both of us are similar in nature, quiet, shy, reserved. Fortunately we complement each other in different ways, a combination of strengths and weaknesses that create a harmonious blend of individual traits. Where I am too emotional, sensitive and stubborn with a tendency to overreact, Dave is calm, rational, patient. Where Dave is prone to forgetfulness and procrastination, I am organized and driven to accomplish something first, relax later.

We continue to learn how to share our lives without overtaking one another, without losing the essence of who we are. And although I was perfectly happy living alone, now I find the muffled sounds and constant presence of another person in the house to be so comforting. Especially when that presence is Dave.

It has been seven years and I love him more than ever, more than I realized you could love another. Sometimes I regret that we didn’t meet while we were still young enough to have a family of our own. Then again, if we were not yet mature, without a lifetime of experiences to ground us, would our hearts have known what we had found?

Our wedding from Deborah French on Vimeo.