Faintest in memory yet certain at heart, my mother was the first woman I truly loved. The 'W' before 'L' as If I’d not known the game of defeat, my earliest pronunciation sounded something along the heart-shaped lines of “I wuv you!”
I had plenty of practice to sharpen the edges, round the corners and properly flick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. However, we all know practice isn’t always perfect, nor was my ability to love.
I developed a charming and affectionate personality at a young age demonstrated by my parents, siblings and additional influence, which may provide reason behind my inclination to throw the L-word around more than I should have.
At thirteen years of age I told a girl I loved her, and if I'm not mistaken, it was said over the landline telephone. Six months and a first kiss later, my actions proved otherwise when I felt my lips on another female behind the bleachers at a high school football game. Fair to say I misused and abused the heart-shaped phrase.
In the three years that followed and the dozen girlfriends come and gone, only three others heard the words. I parted ways with the last phases of puberty and many of the girls who made it an enjoyably erect experience. In case you're wondering, I was still a virgin going into high school.
Nervous for the years ahead with football, academics, new friends and being a freshman, I put aside dating for the time being though it was difficult considering the all-girls school next door.
After school hours spent on the phone with girlfriends were replaced with strenuous amounts of homework. The reality of sports eligibility sank in while trying to maintain a GPA well enough to play. The only loving I had time for was myself. Must I say no more…
Sophomore year rolled around; finally adjusted to the Jesuit culture, comfortable in the crowd; I was barely hanging on to an eligible grade point average while exceeding athletic expectations. I think I’d found my niche.
Unexpectedly, I was reintroduced to love that later evolved into something greater than that between a mother and her own child.
It began a little like this...
Friday night beneath the football lights in October 2004, I was introduced to a girl who transformed the way I love for years to come. We fell in love more than once. And this time, I truly meant it when I said it.
Her love motivated me, drove me forward, steered me from harm’s way and changed my life for the best.
She led and loved by example, without taking a single day off.
She learned to cook so I could eat as well as I had growing up with my mother’s home-prepped meals. I no longer missed my mother’s cooking (sorry, mom!). She provided opportunities of a lifetime and created experiences that reshaped my perspective on many things, ultimately providing an appreciation for the world around me. She nurtured me in ways similar to my mother’s unconditional display of love. For fifteen years, she loved and cared for me like there’s no tomorrow.
Unfortunately, the tomorrow we thought would never come had arrived, and our paths divided.
Letting go was the hardest part.
In short, I was lost in the comfort and routine of things. Intimacy faded; our passions and interests were no longer aligned. My heart and soul strayed farther from home. My beliefs dreams, ideas and perspectives shifted, and there was still so much I wanted to accomplish, a family not being one of them. It wasn’t fair that I hold her back from the things she wanted.
I needed to walk away.
Despite our differences, she is the reason I am the man I am today.
Love is the last thing on my list for now, but who knows, I have been proven wrong plenty of times before.
In the meantime, I will continue to fall in love with life, friendships, travel, challenges, and my own happiness.
Son of Mark
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