Absence

When I first met R, I was happy being single. I avoided anything near committment because of a failed marriage that had ended horribly. So I dated.

But on the night we met, I was just hanging out with friends. We had gone to the Carol of Lights on the Texas Tech campus and decided to hit a bar -- one of those trendy upscale yuppie bars of the 80s. I ran into a friend who knew someone I was with, and that person happened to be with R. As the evening progressed, R and I started a conversation. It was a mutually, unspoken switching of dates as the evening wore on. R gave me a ride home, and asked for my number. Could he call? Sure. What time? Time? I'd never exactly had a guy ask me what time he could call. How about 2 p.m.? Sure, he said.

The next day friends and I hung around my apartment because I had told them about the guy I'd met the night before who had asked what time he could call. He called. 2 p.m. on the dot.

On our second official date, we were in the car heading to a restaurant for dinner. He started talking, telling me that he had been single for a long time, and never thought he would meet the girl he knew he would want to spend the rest of his life with. Wow. I thought. He's giving me the old kiss off, BEFORE dinner. Uh, not exactly. R was talking about me. I freaked. I want to go home, I said. He took me home, but kept calling every day.

I'd tell my friends to answer the phone. I'd been introduced to R by his first name. So I instructed my friends to tell him I was not there. He called and said, this is R. My friend gave me the phone. He was charming. We went out again. And again, and again. We got married four months after we met. That was more than 23 years ago.

The only time we've been apart was when he was in the Air Force. The last year of active duty, he was gone almost a whole year, stateside, to Germany, to Saudi Arabia. When he came back, he left the military and we went to Mizzou. We took classes together, we worked together, we hung out. We still do that. We both work at the same place, we go on all trips together.

Except this week he took a solo trip for the campaign. He's in Iowa. He left Monday. We'll meet up again Tuesday in Chicago. I'm counting the days, hours and minutes.

His absence has left a vacuum in my daily life. He called me this morning as soon as he woke up. He still sounded groggy from sleep. Hey, he said. I just wanted to hear your voice. It made me happy and sad at the same time.

I miss my buddy, my love, my best friend. Can't wait til Tuesday.

23 years and counting...

April 2, 1985. The wedding was set for June. Planning was going nowhere. We were getting opposition from friends and family. Stress was building. We KNEW this was right, why couldn't anyone else get over the fact that we had become engaged only after two months of dating? This was month four. We had just moved in together and the parents were freaking out. Never mind that we were both in our late 20s and hadn't lived at home for years.

So we decided to get married. We called two friends to join us as witnesses and we drove from Lubbock to the big city of Tahoka, Texas. We had called ahead and the justice of the peace was expecting us at the courthouse. We did everything in one day, license, etc. The JP talked to us about his latest fishing trip in East Texas. We both got more nervous. This was the second time for both of us. The first time hadn't been great for him. For me, the first marriage was disastrous. This was a huge step. The right step, but huge.

The ceremony started. I seemed calmed, but kept moving the heel of my shoe around in a nervous motion. It broke off. We laughed. We made our promises, to love, cherish in good times and bad. We celebrated our first anniversary with the wedding we didn't have the year before.

We're still laughing. Still cherishing. Things have changed. We've raised the children that Ray adopted as his own. We now share grandchildren and memories, good times and bad.

My hubby, who has almost no romantic bone in his body made me cry recently when he bought a framed painting, underneath the sentiment: "Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be."

I believe it is. After a week of pain and doctor's visits from my accident. He's been right there, helping me get dressed, holding my hand when he knew I hurt. And on our anniversary planning a three-hour dinner cruise complete with wine and roses.

Marrying him was the very best thing I ever have done.

The best is yet to be...