January 26, 2019

I remember the first time I saw him. It was just a picture, sent in a text, sent to me while I was millions of miles away on vacation. The senders, my little sister and my mom in cahoots, sent it to me because they knew that I was desperate for love. And so was he.

In less than a second, I had absorbed and memorialized his image in my . . . in my heart, particularly his beautiful sad eyes. I don’t have the words to describe it. But as soon as I saw his picture, I knew that he was mine, and that I was his. It wasn’t a matter of wanting him or him wanting me. It was as if destiny had just casually disclosed itself in a text message, and with a confidence that I had no practical right to possess, I knew that we would be together as soon as I returned. And we certainly were.

Those that don’t believe in love at first sight merely haven’t experienced it. I guess it’s not a bad outlook. Maybe safer that way. Love at first sight is, of course, very rare. So believing in it, without it and while you wait for it, could be an excruciating experience.

That wasn’t my experience. I didn’t believe in love at first sight, so I wasn’t looking for it.  I was too busy barreling down a path of practicality to anticipate a pure miracle.

One day, you’re strolling under a blinding sunlit sky, you know the type, when the sun is so bright that it swallows the sky whole, and as you progress forward you do so on pure faith and trust, because you can’t see anything in front of you, utterly blinded by the white glare. Then, the shade of a billowing tree intercepts your blindness, and standing there under the tree you see the Truth, something you’ve never seen before, but instantly recognize and know.

That’s how it felt when I saw Patty for the first time. I’d never been good at loving before, but with him, I didn’t even have to try. I’ve loved him so much more than myself. And that felt good. When you have that kind of a love you never feel alone. I miss him so much that I can’t think about it. 

This will be the first of many stories that I write about Patty. Afterall, he was my better half, and the closer that I keep him to me, the more that I will learn to love myself as I did him.