Style—it hasn’t made her mark on me, not a lasting one anyway.
I’ve never been able to define mine because like the blowing of the winds here in the mountains, it seems to change everyday. Each month. Every year.
I scan my closet, old pictures, my house, and ponder the question:
“What was I thinking?”
Did I really at one time pull that shirt over my head, my arms sliding through, the fabric brushing my sides and actually venture out in public?
Why didn’t anyone stop me?
And worse—would it even still fit today?
My hair has been dabbled with more times than a child splashes in a new found puddle. There were the bangs. Then no bangs. Long. Short. Dark. Not so dark. Crimped. Straight. And then repeated again over the course of 15 years.
I’ve picked things out for our home and later sat staring at the poor color choice for the walls, and doors, trim. I know at one time I must have liked it for it was I who picked it out, carrying it to the register and actually handing money over for it.
While my tastes and styles have changed dramatically over the years, I can’t bring myself to alter what I don’t like anymore.
So, the chair stays, the throw rug remains. I feel I have to live with my decisions—that and I’m too cheap to do anything about it.
Part of me hopes for that returned spark I had in the beginning. Something to bring me back to what I first loved.
I’m still waiting.
Still, there’s this one thing I absolutely love.
It finds its way to the top of my list any day. I haven’t outgrown it. I haven’t gotten tired of seeing it. Instead of wrinkling my nose in despair when I pass it by, I get excited, wanting to look a bit longer. I still love its color, its smell, its feel—even after all these years.
I like to think of myself as blessed, having nothing to do with the ‘picking’ of this thing in my life. And you can think me corny, or sappy, but the Lord actually bought and paid for him, dropping him in my lap at the age of 20. I fell hard and fast and never once doubted that Graham was the one for me—even with all we’ve been through.
I vowed to him 10 years ago that I’d love him and cherish him and hold him dear through it all. They were heartfelt words and I truly meant them, but it would be the words I’d say to him 7 years later that would really matter, the ones that would truly bind me to him until death parted us.
And death almost did do just that. Part us.
He’d never hear me say how I’d stay with him as he fought through his coma, his brain injury devastating, the future unknown. He’d never remember any of it nor would he even repeat any sorts of words back to me. All I had in that moment was my commitment to him, my steadfast love and desire to keep on keeping on, even when it looked dire, impossible to do.
You’re a fool to think I did any of this on my own—the Lord’s words and love dominated and trumped anything I could’ve done in my own strength.
And so, here we are after all these years. Still together. Still fascinated in our ‘purchase’ of each other. Sure, we argue; we fight like the crabs we sometimes are. But our ‘style’ remains. My taste in Graham has not changed. And I have not grown weary or tired of the one thing I’ve been around the longest.
It truly must be love.
We sure look like babies here, only 20. August 9th, 2003
3 kids and a traumatic brain injury later….
We’re only getting warmed up!