A Woman With Baggage
In the spring of 1999, my children raced excitedly upstairs on Father’s Day to wake their daddy for breakfast – and found that they couldn’t. My 39 year-old- husband had passed away during the night. Left with three small children, I was now a young widow and, as a well-meaning friend put it, “a woman with lots of baggage”. Although I scoffed outwardly, I ruefully acknowledged that my chances of finding love again might, indeed, be slim. After all, a new man must be able to share love with not just me, but also with the hearts of three, very fragile, little girls. It would be a special man, indeed, who had arms large enough to embrace my brood.
But life went on, and the years slipped by one by one. Reluctantly, I began to believe my friend had been right after all; for even as I began to carve out a new life as a single parent,carefully accepting dinner and movie dates, (and even one or two blind dates), love eluded me. Some of these men touched my heart, and others smiled on my children, but in the end, there was no one I seriously considered for romance. And then came Hurricane Jeanne.
That Monday morning in September 2004, as the remnant winds departed and left my yard a disaster, a man appeared at the far end of my street. Walking slowly, he made his way from house to house, chatting with my neighbors, and offering to help lift branches or clear driveways. When he finally reached my house, his blue, blue eyes crinkling warmly at me, I found myself grinning like an idiot and not minding it one bit. Inexplicably, my heart recognized a new friend.
And what a friend he was! From that very first day, Forrest slipped into our world effortlessly, spending hours with the girls and lending a hand with everyday household projects and needs. His ready laughter and incredibly kind smiles charmed the girls and brought him their trust, and his gentle ways brought a new peace into our days. Glad of his presence, but leery of involvement, I continued to go out on the occasional date with this man or that man. However, as week after week slid by, I found myself looking forward more to an after-date phone call with Forrest than the date! We’d often take long, unhurried walks around the neighborhood in the evenings and talk about nothing and everything. He had become my best friend, a special someone that I began to confide in, and counsel with, and laugh or cry with – but still, just a friend. One day, he brought his own children by, a boy and a girl. How ridiculously thrilled I was to see his daughter and my youngest, both the same age, become grand buddies! In time, all 5 of our children met and got along well.
At Christmas-time that year, the girls and I drove to Chicago to visit my family. It’s a long and boring road-trip, and winter weather makes it perilous. I never enjoy the drive, and now, bare hours into the journey, I had the gnawing feeling that something important had been left behind. Three cups of coffee and 400 miles later, I had to face the truth: It was not a ‘someThing’ I was missing, but a someOne named Forrest. Incredibly, somewhere among the crazy schedules of 5 teenagers and the evening walks fixing the world and sharing dreams, Forrest had managed that embrace big enough to hold us all. Love had slipped into my life so quietly that I never saw it coming.
October 1st of this year marked our 4th wedding anniversary. For me, it’s also a celebration of my second amazing chance at love. Forrest and I both home-office, and together we juggle the demands of a large family and bills with loud complaints and secret smiles and prayers of thanksgiving. Our children live in harmony for the most part, and fight like blood siblings the rest of the time. It doesn’t get much better than this. One thing’s for sure - they’re no longer “my baggage” – they’re ours!