Twenty-five years ago, today, I married Charlie on a beach in La Jolla, California. We were only 21 years old. What in the world were we thinking?
Initially, we were just going to go to a Justice of the Peace, no fuss, because all of our family was back in Texas. My thoughts were that we’d come back home on our first-year anniversary and have a big reception or some type of celebration. But my Aunt Marty told me, “Katie…you never know what the future holds, you better do something to make this first time special.”
So, we planned a little casual, impromptu ceremony on the beach, circumnavigated some work-related complications, and went on a very short honeymoon to Big Bear.
I’m glad we did that.
That first-year celebration never came to pass. Life happens. We ended up going from San Diego, to the valley, then getting re-stationed from the valley in California to Whidbey Island, in Washington state, and when newlyweds…moving expenses take precedence over the luxury of wedding plans when a young couple is starting out.
Over the years, I dreamed of having a renewal of vows on a significant date and the twenty-five-year mark always stood out.
Little did we know, our 25 would never come about. We made it to 22 before ALS ripped a gaping hole in our time matrix.
I wonder how many of you know how easy it is for reality to mess with our heads?
This October will mark three years without my special guy.
Today will be my third wedding anniversary spent as half of a whole.
It becomes harder and harder to remember life from “before.” I mean, it DOESN’T…but it DOES.
Some days it feels like a dream…as if it didn’t really happen…as if maybe I made it all up in my own head. So strange. But maybe that’s because I could never really wrap my head around the fact that he chose me.
So here I am. Twenty-five years later. And I still talk to him daily.
Hey Babe. It’s been almost three years since you were here in this world with me. It’s been even longer since I heard your voice, felt your touch, had a truly good, BIG hug from behind and leaned my cheek against yours.
I’ve done a lot of things in these last few years. Probably too much. It’s been a struggle. More than I could have predicted. I have a permanent seat reserved on the struggle bus. There’s so much to process in the fallout of grief.
We moved. To Maine. I can feel you smiling at that. I know visiting this state was on our bucket list. I can’t help but think you would have liked it, and we could have ended up here, together, as a family, some way – somehow.
Grace is good. She’s beautiful. You’d be giving the evil eye to a lot of little dudes pretty soon, I’m sure. She’s doing well, I think. She’s smart. Practicing for Jazz Band, lately.
I wrote a book. It’s not quite “our” story, yet. [That one is still in progress…] But it’s what I needed to say first regarding my reflections of our journey with ALS. There will probably be more to say to that end, more to say on ALL fronts, but for now, it is an explanation of how Grace and I got to “here.”
I write a LOT now.
And, I can see NOW, how the seeds of authorship were planted throughout my life and, apparently, left germinating until they had no choice but to break free from the surface. I’m grateful, and yet saddened, that it was only after your loss, that I was able to put pen to paper (so to speak) and give voice to my truths.
You saw only a small bit of what I was capable of producing.
You have had such an influence on my person. I am SO much funnier than I would have been without your influence, I am! Grace gets it honest. It runs deep in you Bauers. Her off the wall comments often surprise spontaneous laughter from me, even when I’m mad.
Never, ever doubt that you mattered…that you continue to matter.
Your existence was essential to mine and for Grace’s. She loves you, so.
She remembers. She does. We do not stifle our memories. They are essential to our well-being and to our recognition of self. You mattered. You will always matter.
At some point soon, I will let myself feel all the feels, all the fears, and I will crumble and sink under the massive amount of sorrow that comes with losing your other half.
I’ve kept that at bay for some time. I know I have. It’s helped me cope…to deal…to function.
But at the same time, I’ve processed. I’ve thought, and I HAVE felt…I’ve just kept a tight rein on how free I’ve allowed those emotions to roam.
So, on this, our 25th wedding anniversary, I still say – I love you. Thank you for loving me, for loving our daughter. I would trade a million “renewal of vows” to still have you here with us.
Love Always,
Katie
In a way, my letter almost seems like it could have been composed to a nonexistent future “other.” Because, it really does seem, at times, like our life before was just an imaginary existence.
“Time moves on…forever forward…” a phrase I found on a Post It note, hidden inside the drawer of a desk in the office of my USN Orlando bootcamp barracks in 1993.
And yes…it does.
I think, truly, the part that makes it most real…that continues to help me realize and feel, that our time together was, indeed, real…is the “Hey, babe…”
I miss that.
I miss HIM. I still remember how that feels…how it felt.
And Grace. She DEFINITELY makes it real. She is certainly his “mini” me in so many ways.
We did good there. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but we did. What an amazing little human we created. She’s a very special kiddo. (Although her sarcasm, lately, is getting on my nerves…)
I’m pretty certain I have a few more books in me. This one has a LOT of raw and honest truths in it that I could never have predicted I’d share. I hope Charlie is okay with that.
As we soldier forth from here…all I ask is that when Charlie gets in a really good joke with our Brother up in Heaven, that he gives him a nudge and a nod, to ask the Father, for some really amazing grace going forward from here. And gives Him a wink.
“Time moves on, forever forward.
While we hide our heads in this small space of no time
Where days seem weeks long, but
Weeks pass like yesterday.”
Unknown
#allthelove #allthehugs #allthefeels #NewNormALSz
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