Tag Archives: writing

Thanks for the Ride

While scrolling my Facebook newsfeed recently, I came across a post by an old friend that caught my eye and made me smile.  It said that it was seventeen years ago on that particular day that our army reserve unit left for Iraq.  I couldn’t believe it.  I had to count it out, using all my fingers and some of my toes.  It really had been seventeen years since we left Ft. Dix, New Jersey, headed for war.  Since I didn’t have Facebook when we left Ft. Dix in 2008, the event of going wheels up to cross the Atlantic Ocean doesn’t show up in my Facebook memories once a year like so many other things do.  To remedy this, I made a Facebook post referencing my friend’s post, that it had been seventeen years, and that I was making that post so it would show up in my memories.  I went on to mention that I had a bunch of pictures from that deployment and I would try to find them and post some on my Facebook page.

My post created somewhat of a mini-online reunion for many of my fellow soldiers from the 320th Military Police Battalion.  And when I started posting some of the 5,000 pictures I took while deployed, the reunions and stories and memories just kept coming.  On a side note, one of my “extra duties” while deployed was to be the battalion photographer and NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge) of the battalion newsletter.  Hence, the insane amount of pictures I took.  But to be honest, I likely would have taken most of the pictures anyway, without having that task added to my list of duties.  So many pictures!  And those pictures helped us relive plenty of stories and memories.

During our whole deployment, one of my fellow soldiers and I had kind of a little inside joke where when he saw me, he would annoyingly, almost angrily say, “You’re welcome!”  To which I would reply, “Thanks for the ride.”  Even recently while posting pictures from seventeen years ago, he made a comment on one of my Facebook posts, “You’re welcome for the ride, haha.”  There is a funny story as to why we would greet each other that way.  And it all started with the first time we met.  But before we get to all that, we have to go back to the start of that particular day, to about sixteen hours before we actually met.  To before I even made it to that unit and before I started taking all those pictures.

In the Army Reserves, it is not uncommon for soldiers to get cross-leveled into other units to fill a need in a unit that is preparing to deploy.  As a matter of fact, I was cross-leveled to a new unit for both my deployments, the first to Iraq, the second to Afghanistan.  For the Afghanistan deployment, not only was I cross-leveled to a new unit, but that new unit loaned me and some others to an active duty unit for the entire deployment.  And in the case of going to Iraq, I was transferred last-minute to a Military Police Battalion in Pennsylvania.  It was so last minute that I and about a dozen other soldiers had to do a few months’ worth of training in just a few weeks to catch up with the rest of the unit.  There was a lot to learn in a condensed time frame.  There were plenty of areas that each of us needed to be certified in to go on that deployment.  This made for long days.  But maybe none of them as long as the day I traveled to that new unit for the first time.

I remember it was the first day of the new school year for my kids here in Florida.  Right offhand I don’t remember the exact date, only that it was mid-August.  I dropped my kids off at their respective schools and then my wife dropped me off at the airport.  It was a nice, sunny day here in the panhandle of Florida.  But somewhere in the south or central part of the state there was a tropical storm or hurricane making waves.  All the flights in the southeast United States were affected.  And from where I was departing most of the flights go through Atlanta, where it ended up being a bottleneck of air traffic with endless delays.  My first flight was delayed long enough to where I would not make my connection, which in turn would prevent me from getting to the small-town airport somewhere in Pennsylvania before it closed for the day.  Unless I was to fly out the next day, the only option was to reroute into Philadelphia and have someone drive the 120-something miles (240-mile roundtrip) to get me and bring me back to the town where I was originally supposed to arrive.  And when I called the unit about the flight delays, arriving a day late was not an option.

I don’t remember a lot about the flights that day.  I don’t remember if I still flew through Atlanta or somewhere else.  But I remember finally arriving at Philadelphia International Airport around midnight and having no clue where to go to meet my ride that was supposedly coming.  I hadn’t spoken to anyone at my new unit since before I boarded the flight for Philly.  Somehow, and I don’t know how I got this lucky, I ended up going out the correct exit to find my ride.  But along the way from the baggage carousel to the exit, I found someone else that was going to the same unit as I was.  He was a young lieutenant that was looking to get a taxi for the more than two-hour drive.  But instead, we found the white passenger van with government tags and got on the road in the middle of the night.  I remember hearing my name called out and looking over to see someone waving me to come over.  After confirming that was my ride, I introduced the young lieutenant and the driver said something along the lines of, “Ok.  I wasn’t told about anyone else, but whatever.  Let’s go.”

We climbed into the van.  The young lieutenant went straight to the back row, stretched out on the seat, and went to sleep.  I sat in the row behind the front seats.  The passenger seat up front had a co-driver in it, but he was asleep, occasionally mumbling in his slumber during the trip.  The driver, focused on the mission, started the engine and we were on our way.  I made small talk with the driver, asking about the unit, the leadership, and a list of other topics.  It didn’t take long to realize he wasn’t happy about this 240-mile round-trip mission he was given.  He wasn’t rude.  He stayed professional.  But he wasn’t happy.  He had been pulled from a pre-deployment party, celebrating with his section and the families at an Outback Steakhouse, basically saying their goodbyes since we were leaving for Ft. Dix in a couple days. That would explain the almost lifeless body in the front passenger seat, ha-ha.  Turns out, I completely interrupted that party by needing a ride from halfway across the state.  Or we could blame the weather in South Florida. 

I probably thanked him over and over again for coming to get me.  Since he didn’t really want to be there in the middle of the night, driving us from the airport to the hotel, I wanted to make sure he knew that I appreciated him.  His response was, “You’re welcome!”  It was loud and forceful.  It wasn’t a normal “you’re welcome,” it was a frustrated “you’re welcome.”  But it was amusing and humorous for some reason and it kind of stuck with us.  From that point on that’s how he greeted me for the entire deployment.  It became a fun thing.  It was a weird circumstance that led to some camaraderie that still lives seventeen years later.

Aside from the travel delays on that day in August of 2008, another painful part of the adventure from that day happened when we arrived at the hotel where the unit was staying.  I think we got to the hotel around 2 am.  Maybe 3, it is all a blur.  The young lieutenant checked in at the front desk and got his room.  But for some reason when I tried to check in, they didn’t have my name on the list for a room.  It was a debacle.  I had no idea who in the unit to ask for and I didn’t have anyone’s cell phone number to call and ask.  And the driver of the van who might have had an answer already vanished as soon as we arrived.  Even if I wanted to pay for a room myself, there were no rooms left at the hotel.  Thankfully, the young lieutenant overheard and asked the clerk if his room had two beds.  It did.  I had a place to crash for two hours before we had to wake up and start the day.  That gesture by the lieutenant has never been forgotten.  It was the beginning of great friendship during deployment, another crazy circumstance that fostered camaraderie.

Throughout my time in the army, especially after I went back into service the second time, I met and served with some amazing people.  From different army schools for training, to the various reserve units I was part of, to the deployments I went on, there is a special bond I still feel with all those I served with.  I love every single one of them.  We might not have seen each other or spoken for more than 15 years, but we wouldn’t miss a beat if we chatted today.  That is evident in some of the messages and comments that resulted from all the pictures I recently posted on Facebook.  In some cases, we picked up like we had just spoken yesterday instead of “forever” ago.  There are few professions outside of the military where this happens on that deep of a level.  Being forced to trust each other with our lives tends to create some strong bonds.

Thanks again for the ride, Blake!  “You’re welcome!”  I appreciate you.  To all the others I served with, thank you for all the stories and memories.  Let’s catch up sometime.  And for everyone else that found your way to Story of My Life, thanks for stopping by today.  I hope you enjoyed this piece.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

Top: Mural of the 320th MP BN on a T-wall at Camp Bucca, Iraq, 2008.

Bottom: 320th MP BN Unit Ministry Team on mission to Umm Qsar, 2008.

New Perspective, New Goals

Today marks one month since having open-heart quadruple bypass surgery, also known as CABGx4. And I am still amazed by the fact that a team of surgeons cut me open, fixed my heart, and put me back together.  I’m still trying to wrap my head around it- how that all works, how it’s even possible to do these things.  Every time I think about it, I am reminded of how lucky and blessed I am.  I am humbled and sometimes get emotional as all the different possibilities of the last month play out in my head.  Open heart surgery is the kind of event that brings into focus a new perspective.  At least for me, anyway, it has.  And the long, boring recovery forces you to reevaluate your goals and make new ones. 

The last month has been quite a rollercoaster ride.  It’s been trying, depressing, and boring with seemingly never-ending days.  But it’s also been good in some ways.  I have a new lease on life.  I have been forced to slow down and take inventory of what is important to me.  I’ve made new goals.  And I have already exceeded my own expectations in this first month of recovery.  For example, on the first day of recovery, while still in the hospital, I could barely walk 20 steps.  And I’m still mad at them for making me get out of bed on Day 1.  Fast forward to Day 30: I walked 1.25 miles by myself.  It was at a decent pace, took me 30 minutes to do the loop in my neighborhood.  And I felt pretty good after.  If you had told me on the first day that I’d be able to walk over a mile by myself in one month’s time, I would not have believed you.  Day 1 was overwhelming and nothing seemed possible. 

I still have a couple weeks of restrictions for this first six weeks of recovery.  I’m limited in how much I can pick up; nothing more than a gallon of milk.  My movements are limited; still not supposed to raise my hands above my shoulders or bend over to pick up anything off the floor.  My activities are limited; still not supposed to do any housework or yardwork.  This level of boredom is cruel and depressing.  But I have been testing my limits the last couple weeks as I’ve felt better.  I’m not doing anything that hurts or doesn’t feel right, but I am progressing nicely.  I can load the dishwasher now.  I can feed the dogs now because I’m not uncomfortable bending down to the food container.  I can make my own lunch and do some light cooking.  All these little victories are adding up and creating a self confidence that was absent one month ago.  I’ve come a long way in one month and am doing much better than I imagined. 

I have a group chat on Facebook with my kids.  About two to three weeks ago I messaged them that I was now able to shower by myself without assistance.  A few days after that I shared with them that I had made my own lunch.  Days after that, I made a full dinner with some help from my wife.  The little steps of progress were very pleasing and boosted my morale.  Little goals, little victories.  And those lead to bigger goals and bigger victories.  I’m 54 years old but some of my goals early on in my recovery have been on the level of a four-year-old trying to impress his parents.  “Look, mom, I went potty by myself.”  Or “Look, dad, I put my shoes on by myself.”  I’m having to change my perspective about the goals I make.  And this part is very humbling to me.

Today my goals are to walk at least 5,000 steps per day.  I’ve achieved that a few times in the last couple weeks and this week I have done it five days in row so far.  I also want to walk the 1.25-mile loop in my neighborhood every other day.  Next week I’ll look at doing a little more if I feel like I can.  I don’t want to overdo it, but I don’t want to be stagnant if I’m capable of doing more.  For a long-term goal, there is a 5k coming up in March of next year that some of my kids are involved in that I would like to be part of.  That gives me six months.  I don’t know if I’ll run it or walk it, but I will finish it.  Not related to the heart issue, it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to run due to foot issues, including having to get an artificial joint put in my right foot.  Maybe I’ll run that 5k, maybe I’ll only be able to walk it, but I will be there. 

I’m still in some pain, especially in the leg where they harvested the vein to do the grafts on my heart.  I still have problems getting comfortable when I go to sleep and sometimes wake up in excruciating pain because I rolled or moved wrong in my sleep.  A deep cough or hard sneeze feels like someone is trying to open my chest with a crowbar.  And hiccups are horrible.  But I still think the hardest part is the boredom.  I think that will get better in a couple weeks when these initial restrictions go away and the doctor tells me where I am and what I am allowed to do for the next phase of recovery.

My wife is an absolute saint for taking care of me.  And even more so for putting up with me.  I am irritable, moody, and hard to deal with sometimes.  It’s been one month since surgery, but it’s been one month plus one day since I quit smoking.  I think I’m handling that fairly well for the most part.  But I also still get a craving for a cigarette once in a while and I can be a real jerk when the craving is getting the best of me.  I quit smoking “cold turkey” once more than 20 years ago and that lasted for six years, so I know I can do it.  I think that if I weren’t so restricted in what I can do currently, I might already be past the hard part of quitting.  I’ll get there. 

One month down.  Many more to go.  I think the hardest part of recovery is now behind me.  The first week and a half of not being able to do most anything for myself was not fun.  I don’t like being completely dependent like I was.  But now I’m feeling pretty good.  I am able to do more than I thought I would at this point in my recovery.  My follow-up appointment with the surgeon was great, everything is as it’s supposed to be.  The scar on my chest looks good.  Everything is healing as it should.  I’ll find out more next week when I see my cardiologist.

Thank you to those who reached out with well-wishes and prayers.  I felt the love.  Thanks for stopping by Story of My Life and being part of my journey.  Good Day, God Bless.

Dave

The Frist 36 Hours

Most of this story is true, I think.  Some of it was hallucinated.  A portion of it had to be told to me because I had no recollection of what was going on during part of it.  Some of it was dreamt and some of it was just there when I would close my eyes, like a video that only I could see playing on my eyelids, all while being wide awake.  None of the first 36 hours or so after I had open-heart surgery was pretty.  For a bit, I didn’t know what was real or what was being made up in my drug-induced imagination.  And I have no idea what all medications I was on at any given time during or following surgery, but I think the combination of all those drugs made my comprehension of current events questionable and my memory of those events a little whacky.  But this is how I think it all happened.

The first thing I remember after surgery was waking up with some kind of endotracheal tube in my mouth running down my throat.  I don’t really remember the tube being removed, but I do remember the pain from the tube being removed.  It hurt my throat.  I also remember darkness and calling out for help.  I remember being scared, but I couldn’t remember why I was there or how I had gotten to where I was.  At that point, so I was told later, I became uncooperative and combative with the nursing staff.  I don’t remember that, but I believe it because I can remember how scared I was.  I do remember accusing the nurse of purposely trying to let me die because she wasn’t helping me.  That’s what I thought anyway.  But of course, she was helping me, I just couldn’t see it.  I remember asking and begging for them to let me see my wife.  My wife was by my side that whole time, holding my hand.  But I couldn’t recognize her and, according to her, I thought she was trying to kill me as well.  All of this was in the first few hours of being moved from surgery to the Cardiovascular Intensive Care Unit (CVICU).

The next little bit of time would not get any better.  I found a new level of pain as the different medicines wore off following surgery.  This is a pain scale that replaces the old 0-10 scale that a doctor would use to ask you to rate your pain.  There is not a cap on this newfound scale, like with the number ten on the old one.  This new pain scale will go as high as you can handle it, and then some.  I honestly can not explain the intensity of the pain, especially when an unexpected cough or sneeze would blindside me.  This pain made it impossible to be comfortable.  It was difficult to sleep, to sit up, or to have a conversation.  Breathing hurt, swallowing hurt, and most other movements brought pain in ways I never before imagined.  I’ve always had a high tolerance for pain, but this was rough.  Thankfully, this new level of previously unexperienced pain only lasted a few days. 

Even with all the pain, the tricks my mind were playing were even worse.  Sleep would only last a minute or two at a time.  The dreams were so disturbing I would wake up trying to yell.  I did tell my wife about two of the dreams, the least disturbing of them, but I won’t be discussing any of that content here.  It’s a little scary to me that my mind came up with some of the images in those dreams.  And just as bad were the images while awake, when I would close my eyes for a short rest.  The colors and distorted scenes that were waiting for me with each prolonged blink is what I imagine Hell looks like.  I’ve served in two wars and have a few images that are forever etched in the dark, hidden parts of my mind.  Nothing I saw at war, not even my worst memory of war, can compare to the complete void of humanity that my mind was manufacturing for me to see.  I have no idea how my mind could possibly create such chaos that felt so real and imminent.  The dreams while asleep and the images my mind created while awake were bad.  Now add hallucinations to the tricks my mind was playing.  I have memories of and was also told by my wife later that I kept asking who was walking around me, touching me on my arm.  I kept thinking I was seeing someone walking around in my room.  When I would ask, my wife would point out that we were the only ones in the room, there was no one else there.  I don’t remember what their faces looked like, but I promise I saw people in my room that apparently weren’t real.  And I felt these imaginary people touch my arm multiple times.  I have no rational explanation for anything in this paragraph. 

My Worst War Memory

Somewhere around the second day after surgery, we had to address a minor complication called postoperative ileus.  That means my stomach didn’t “wake up” after surgery.  There was no movement down there.  Because of that, the doctor ordered an NG tube (Nasogastric tube).  Up the nose, down to the stomach.  It was used to drain the contents of my stomach.  This complication cost me two extra days in the CVICU.  I don’t remember the tube being put in.  I remember telling the doctor later that if they pulled it out, they better be sure of it because I would fight anyone that tried to put it back in.  I guess I remembered it being put in at the time, while in the hospital, but I have no memory of it now.  But I remember how miserable I was.  I still had chest tubes from surgery.  I had oxygen going in my nostrils.  I had more IV’s than I could count.  And the icing on the cake of misery was having that tube in my nose.  I was truly hating life for a brief moment.

I think the first 36 hours after surgery were the most miserable, most scared I’ve been in my life.  In my research leading up to having open heart surgery, the thing that worried me the most were the stories of recovery, not the actual surgery.  Recovery is a long process.  There are countless do’s and don’ts.  Restrictions on lifting, restrictions on movements.  Restrictions on food and medicines.  I never imagined that the initial recovery would include the mind tricks I suffered through.  Thank God that went away after a few days.  The memories of those twisted thoughts and images still choke me up, but at least they stopped.  Boredom is the hardest part now.  Days seem to drag on.  I want to do things, but I know I can’t if I want my recovery to go smoothly.  My wife has been amazing.  She’s doing all my chores and hers.  She’s taking care of me even when I’m difficult and unhappy about being unable to do things for myself.  I’m irritable.  I’m a little depressed.  And I haven’t had a cigarette in over two weeks.  My wife is a saint for putting up with me.  She is my reason for wanting to get better and to do better. 

I feel like the hardest part is behind me.  I’m still confused by the first 36 hours.  I’m actually still a little disturbed by the first 36 hours.  I’m sure it was a combination of shock, pain, and medications.  But that still doesn’t make it any less troubling in my mind.  Thank you for suffering through this post with me today.  I believe most of it to be true even if I don’t remember it all.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

Just In Case

If you saw my recent post about my upcoming heart surgery, you know I have a lot on my plate lately.  You might also know the heart condition was found somewhat by accident.  In all the tests, the imaging, the consultations, and doctors’ appointments looking for the cause of my almost two-year-old headache, we found something else.  Well, we found a number of little, inconsequential things.  But we also found a big thing going on in my heart.  And the blocked arteries have nothing to do with the headache, so I’ve been told by the cardiologist, so we’re still trying to figure it all out.

In my younger years, I was always of the opinion that I didn’t want to know.  I didn’t care to go to the doctor because I could handle whatever was ailing me and tough it out.  And if there was something seriously bad, I wouldn’t want to know anyway.  Let it run its course, and I would be fine- or not, but it wasn’t going to bother me either way.  Plus, if I found out something was seriously wrong, I might have had to rethink my whole philosophy of my fantasy that I was invincible.  And we were all invincible at one time or another in our lives.  Well, my invincibility has been fading for about a decade now. 

I have never been afraid of dying.  And I’m still not, even though I have feared that it could have happened a few times in my life.  Most notably, once in Iraq and once in Afghanistan.  Even then, I wasn’t scared of dying, I just wondered if I had done everything I needed to do or could have done for the ones I would leave behind.  That’s always been my fear, did I do enough?  For me, I am confident in my faith, so I know my death won’t be my end.  I’ve never claimed to be very good at being a Christian throughout most of my life, but I do remember an exact time in my life that I trusted in Jesus Christ and gave my life to him.  I am not afraid to die. 

Because I’ve always been a planner and preparer and organizer, I’ve been looking at where I am now in my question of “did I do enough?”  I’ve talked to my life insurance guy a couple times in the last couple weeks to double-check and make sure everything is up to date.  I’ve pulled out the folders that contain my pre-paid end-of-life arrangements.  I need to update my address with them.  I’m looking closely at my finances and investments.  I’m covering everything I can think of.  There is no over-thinking, no panic, no drastic changes to anything.  I’m simply preparing for just in case.  It’s the right thing to do.  And all of this has my wife in her ‘feels,’ being a little emotional while I make sure things are in order.  I certainly understand.  This is somewhat of an emotional time for both of us.

I, myself, have been a little irritable since having my heart catheterization and then hearing the results.  Some of it stems from the fact that looking ahead to heart surgery is not fun.  And even worse, I’ve looked at what recovery is going to be like, and I already hate it.  I’m bored now just because I’m not supposed to be overdoing things and taking it easy.  Can you imagine how freaking bored I’ll be for the months of recovery I’ll be going through?  Oh yeah, and I have to quit smoking.  Just thinking about that is irritating enough.  Y’all pray for my wife, she’s going to need it.  I’ve quit smoking a few times before, once for five years.  The first couple weeks every time is the hardest.  Seriously, y’all check on my wife.  She’ll have her hands full with me.

The procedure I’ll be having is scary, but it’s not that uncommon these days.  People have been getting open heart surgery for decades now and doctors have become very good at it.  So, I very much plan on living through my heart surgery, fully recovering from it, and eventually finding a new normal at some point in the future.  But, also, I plan on dying.  Hopefully, not for another 20 years or so, but it will happen.  And not to be a killjoy, but you are going to die, too.  We all have that in common.  It’s one of the flaws we all share with these human bodies; we all wear out and eventually die.  I can’t do anything about that, but I can do my best to prepare for when it does happen somewhere down the road.

First, I have to make it to the surgery.  At my post-cath follow-up, my doctor was running way behind.  By the time I got in for my appointment, he was rushing and I didn’t get much at all out of the visit.  While recovering in the hospital after the heart cath, he had told me what my heart looked like and all the problems he found.  But I was still a little high on the sedatives from the procedure, so I really don’t remember most of it.  At the recent appointment, I was hoping he would break it all down, spell it all out to me exactly where the blockages are and what exactly the dissections mean.  I even brought a notebook to take notes.  Basically, he just confirmed that I need surgery and referred me to the surgeon.  How the appointment went is another reason I’m irritable and moody. 

And, of course, I looked it all up on the internet based on the doctor’s notes I was able to get printed out at that appointment.  I think I mentioned it in my last blog post about surfing the internet for medical answers not being the best idea.  For real, though.  I looked up the percentages of each blockage from the notes and what the dissections mean, and now I’m pissed.  Honestly, based on what I found, they should have kept me and done surgery that day.  He even told me that he was surprised I hadn’t had a heart attack already.  I know!!  I found that on the internet.  But I also know that my mind is running a little wild with all of this and it’s almost never as bad as what you find on the internet.  But it is still frustrating because I don’t know what all will happen and when.  And that’s part of why I’m making sure I have everything in order for my wife, just in case.  It’s something we should all do from time to time. 

No matter how long or how much you plan on living, you should go ahead and plan on dying, even if it won’t happen for another 50 years.  Make a plan now for your loved ones for later.  Make their lives a little easier in the future if you can.  I, for one, plan on living until I die, and I plan on that being years down the road.  But, because I love my family, I also have to plan on dying as if it were tomorrow.  Because you never know. 

Thanks for stopping by Story of My Life today.  Some of this might seem a little heavy or dark, but it is simply the facts of life.  And because I love my family, I have to plan this way.  Give some thought to what I talked about.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

Happy I Love You Day

A couple of years ago I declared May 16th as “Happy I Love You Day”.  I was surprised to find an actual “I Love You” day by doing a Google search.  Apparently, there is a National I Love You Day celebrated on October 14.  I had never heard of it, but, according to the website, it’s not for romance like Valentine’s Day, but is designed to tell your friends and family that you love them.  I don’t need October 14th for that.  I tell my friends and family I love them all the time.  This sounds like something the greeting card companies use to make money.  But I digress. 

This post isn’t exactly timely for May 16th or October 14th.  I’m about 2 weeks late or 4 months early, depending on which one of these I Love You Days we want to celebrate.  The idea for this post started percolating in my brain a few weeks ago, specifically on May 16th, since, like I said, I had already declared that day as “Happy I Love You Day.”  Since I needed to put all these thoughts together for this story, I couldn’t compose and post it in a timely manner, and I certainly didn’t feel like this would be a good Memorial Day timeframe post.  That is a time for remembrance of our fallen heroes.  So, I’ll tell this story here and now, a few weeks late from the celebration date.

If you read my last post, The Condo, you know that my time there was a turning point in my life in a good way.  And probably the highlight of my time living in that condo came in January 2020.  I went on a date with a lady I met on a dating app.  If you have ever used a dating site or app, you may know that you should not expect much from the people you meet most of the time.  At least that was my experience.  And honestly, I had reached that point after a number of disappointing encounters using a dating app.  I had zero expectations based on previous dates.  But I showed up for this date anyway. 

We had been chatting for two or three months before we met in person, so I did feel cautiously optimistic about meeting her, in that she wouldn’t be a psycho, crazy person.  If you don’t know, I’ll tell you.  Some of the people you meet on these apps are absolutely nuts.  You never know what you might be getting into.  One quick example:  A lady I met on a dating app and went on a few dates with ended up getting arrested for trafficking drugs.  Not simple possession, not trying to buy something.  She had enough of whatever product it was on her that a charge of trafficking was warranted.  I never saw that coming and never suspected anything of the sort.  And don’t call me for bail money.  You must be out of your mind.  That almost cured me of ever having another date from a dating app. 

But… one more try in January 2020.  And it turned out to be worth it.  I started dating this very nice lady.  We clicked well, had good conversations, enjoyed each other’s company.  She was kind, pretty, and had a good job.  This was good, very good.  Almost too good, right?  Back then I had a tendency of over thinking and over analyzing things.  After about four months my brain got the best of me.  I was really falling for this lady and that scared me.  I honestly didn’t feel that I deserved this level of happiness and that, somehow, some way, I would end up messing it up on a grand scale.  To avoid that, I told her we needed to slow down, that I didn’t want to get too serious.  I figured that I would mess it up now rather than later.  That makes sense, right?  What a moron!!

For the next two or three weeks I was miserable.  I went to work.  I came home.  I didn’t go out, I didn’t socialize.  I didn’t do anything.  It was too late.  By the time I told her we should slow down, I had already fallen in love.  I had two options.  I could continue to be miserable or I could swallow my pride and ask her to spend some time together.  I called, and to my surprise she agreed to get together.  That day happened to be on May 16, when she met me at the condo before we were to go out.  As soon as she walked through the door, I took her in my arms, held her close and told her how much I missed her.  After that I told her that I loved her, that I had become scared, that I was an idiot, that I needed her in my life.  I admitted that I never wanted to get married again, but that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.  Turns out, that worked for her.

Thus began a solid relationship.  Later that year, I bought a house for us and her two teenage kids to live in.  (On a side note, if you read The Condo, you know that at one point I couldn’t afford basic necessities.  So being able to buy a house just a few years later was not something I ever thought would happen).  The transition was rocky, but she and I were committed to making it work.  She had basically been single for over a decade and I was still trying to convince myself that I was allowed to be happy.  The combination of those two mindsets took a lot of work on both our parts. 

Fast forward to May 2021.  By then I had already decided to ask her to marry me even though I had previously never wanted to marry again.  I had the ring.  I asked her teenage children for permission to propose, and they agreed to keep it secret.  I had it in my head how I was going to ask.  And I was confident.  But I had to wait.  Well, I felt it right that I should wait.  My oldest daughter was getting married in May and I in no way wanted to take anything away from that.  I didn’t want any attention of any kind that would even slightly over-shadow their special day. 

After we returned home from my daughter’s wedding, I was ready to pop the question.  And I did.  And coincidently, it happened to be on May 16th.  I had no idea that the 16th was significant in any way.  I’m a guy.  I don’t always know the exact date or anniversary of something like telling someone I love them for the first time.  But she did.  Girls know everything like that!  It was completely by accident and chance that I proposed on the same day, one year later, that I had told her that I loved her.  I didn’t know the exact date.  I only knew that it was sometime around a year prior.  But ladies keep up with this kind of stuff, they know everything.  She thought I planned it that way, but honestly, I was clueless to the fact that “I love you” and “will you marry me?” was exactly a year apart.  Pure chance was far better than any planning I could have done. 

And even though every day with my wife is an I Love You Day, this is why I call May 16th “Happy I Love You Day.”  Every year for past few years, and every year to come, May 16th will be “Happy I Love You Day” for us.  It is just as important as our wedding anniversary and our first date anniversary.  Although, to be honest, she has to remind me every year what day our first date was on back in January 2020. Hey, I’m a guy, I can only remember so much for anniversaries, right?  I do know that this coming October we’ll be celebrating 4 years of marriage.  She doesn’t have to remind me of that one, I already put it in my phone calendar.  Haha!! 

Whatever day you celebrate an I Love You Day, enjoy.  Make a big deal about it.  Declare it a holiday, even if it’s only for you and your significant other.  Pick a day that has some importance to you both or decide to pick a random day.  We need more I Love You Days in our lives, besides the usual wedding anniversaries and birthdays and the like.  Find more reasons to celebrate your love for someone.  Don’t be constrained by what is usual and normal and scripted.  I challenge you to do more. 

Thanks for stopping by.  Good day, God bless, and I love you.

Dave