Happily Ever After

Our “sweetly condensed” love story.

I fell in love with my husband when I was ten years old. He sat behind me in primary and kicked my chair, and I wrote about him in my journal:

“Sunday December 8 1991: It all started some time ago. [Mr. Man] was sitting directly behind me in primary. All of a sudden he put his feet up on my chair, I felt like getting him in trouble (he was always bugging me) so I told Janeth, who was sitting beside me, who passed it down to our teacher (Sister Keen). She said, “Maybe he likes her!” It was talking time, and all around giggles went up. So much for getting [Mr. Man] in trouble, I thought to myself. Every single one of my friends turned around and asked [Mr. Man] if it was true that he liked me. His face turned bright red, his feet quietly came off my chair and deep down inside I secretly hoped his answer would be that marvelous word yes. I suddenly realized how much I cared for [Mr. Man], the new boy (friend) I liked. He opened his mouth to speak and my face went redder than his. My friends asked the question again. He answered immediately saying, “yeah, she’s cool!” I was so glad he hadn’t said no, I could have shouted for joy, I was so happy! After that he still bugged me but I didn’t care. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. I love his 1000 wat grins he gave me and try to reward him with mine. I was thinking about him all the time, even in my dreams. Tomorrow I will write more.”

I have pages where I practiced my new signature with his last name (misspelled, unfortunately). As imaginative and equally obsessed as I was, I dreamed that our wall heat registers transformed into secret tunnels that connected my house to his and that I could crawl through the dark abyss into his presence. I don’t know that I spoke two words to him. But who needed words, I was in love.

Like all good love stories, tragedy struck and his family moved away. Not just to another area in town, not even another province, but to another country, and a place called “Kansas”. I remember thinking that I didn’t think that Kansas was a real place, but nevertheless, he was gone. At age 12, my heart was broken.

Years passed, and while my heart healed, there was a part of it that would always be his. Working in a library, I spent countless hours shelf-reading. Imagining his smiling face appearing as he pushed aside books on the shelf kept me dreaming and surviving. But between the daydreams, in reality, life went on. My parents and friends had a running joke that I would marry Mr. Man. When I dated boys my parents didn’t approve of, they were comforted by the thought that I was practically already betrothed to Mr. Man.

His family came back year after year for visits and taking care of real estate, and one summer he was there and looking as handsome as ever. One of my friends claimed him as hers, but history held strong and everyone else informed her that he was, indeed, spoken for. He was mine. Rumor had it that he would be returning to our home town to go to university the following fall. Not that he would have noticed, but I never wore the outfit I wore the Sunday that he was visiting, again – for fear that he would happen to return on a day that I was again wearing it. Shallow, I know. But don’t you see the sweetness in it too? After all, that was the summer I turned sweet sixteen.

I waited, and yet he never came.

Soon I had pushed him to the back of my mind and determined to live my life without him in it. A couple of years later, a sweet Polynesian lady in our ward started to play matchmaker with several couples. As determined as I was to put him out of my mind, she was ever more determined to get him into my mind. She brought pictures of him weekly, talked about him and his family constantly, even brought me his email address. This went on for quite some time. He completed his freshman year, and I worked on completing high school. In no time he was serving a mission for our church and she brought me his mission address swearing me to write. I didn’t. It wasn’t until she threatened to write him the sappiest love letter ever and sign it from me, that I gave in and wrote him a letter. A nice friendly, support a missionary, here’s what’s going on in your home town letter. He claims he received two before he wrote back. But he did write back – asking for a picture because he wasn’t quite sure which one of my siblings I was! We wrote for almost a year and a half. Nothing mushy, no “I love yous”; but we formed a friendship and a special relationship that can only be formed through writing. He begged me to be at the airport for his arrival home from his mission. I declined, uncertain where our relationship would go, not wanting to get hurt and feeling that that time was really for his family.
So he came up to visit me. It didn’t take long for us to realize that this was the real thing. After nine days of “dating”, and just a few short days after I turned nineteen, he asked me to marry him. I’d been dreaming of that day for nine years, and of course I said yes. We belonged together and we were deeply in love. We were married during Christmas break as most students are, and we have shared over eight special years together.

It’s a fairy-tale really, and I still sometimes look over at him and can’t believe that he’s mine. Our song is, “I knew I loved you before I met you!” Happy Valentines Day babe, I love you now more than ever!