Five years ago.
Two people coming from opposite ends collided. Crashed.
And nothing has been the same since.
We are two boards of equal force leaning against one another holding each other up. Equal force sometimes means equally stubborn. Equally unwilling to move an inch. Sometimes it means gentle gentle gentle urging. encouraging. loving.
He is truth and I am grace.
I had a host of secrets.
So did he.
He said 'You are ok'
I said 'You are ok'
Broken pieces put back together again make a beautiful mosaic. Sometimes, oftentimes more beautiful than the original.
We didn't make sense. Only a few got it.
Even now I'm not sure how much sense we make.
But this is home.
It is easy to forget. It is easy to remember all the opposites. All the reasons there are still a lot of collisions five years later. To only pay attention to things that are not happening. Or to the things that won't stop happening. To complain that 'THIS IS NOT WHAT I SIGNED UP FOR!' Pregnant nine months in and then again and layoffs and back to school and hard times...
(but what DID I sign up for?) I signed up for life. This is life.
After all the colliding and the chaos of the day, when the posse is laid down, when the house is picked up, when PAX VINCENT is reestablished I see him again. I remember him again. The funny man with the big heart beneath the surface of entertaining obnoxiousness. The man who looked me in the eye and said 'You are ok' when I was most broken. The man who says 'Do it' anytime I suggest anything I want to do. Nanny, stay home, breastfeed the posse back to back, natural child birth with a doula, make baby food, baby led weaning, running, run a half marathon, be a doula, be barista, be fluent en français, bike everywhere in town, walk everywhere in town…he is fiercely loyal and every hurdle I jump and every challenge I face my back is covered.
I know this even in the midst of battles over what to do with the posse or what to do with the money or how to tell family we are moving to Wyoming.
He knows my secrets. And I know his.
We've crawled through the mud together. Even dragging the other behind.
And in the midst of it all we have built something. It's not big or flashy. It's quiet and unassuming. We are still working on it-working on each other. Helping heal the broken places. Building a beautiful mosaic out of the give and take of our lives that crashed together so mysteriously five years ago.
And I think I'm learning that this journey is not just about being happy during it or at the end of it-but more about the person I am becoming because of it.