Okay, so it's not actually Independence Day. Today is Independence Day Eve, but tomorrow I'm declaring my independence from the computer, so the July 4th post is coming to ya live a day early.
It's hard to believe that nine years ago right now, I was packing to go to Madison to spend 4th of July with Kelly, Kevin and "the gang." Plans included canoeing, the Dells, Rhythm & Booms, and other assorted fun stuff. Plans did not include meeting the man of my dreams and falling in love. But that's what happened, and how we met is still one of my favorite stories.
Kevin and I were the only ones home, because everyone else had to go on the daily trip to Target. We were at the piano, singing through some of Kev's original compositions, when this beautiful man quite literally tripped into the room. There were toys in his path, causing him to make quite a memorable entrance.
I couldn't speak. For the first time ever, I couldn't say a word. I stood there, silent, for a few moments, while Kevin continued to be engrossed in the song. I don't think he even noticed he had a guest. Eventually, I found my voice enough to croak out "And who is this?" to Kevin. "Oh, him? That's my brother." Without even looking up from the keyboard.
Was it love? I couldn't say for sure. I've never been one to believe in love at first sight, but that's sure what it felt like to me. I was sure he would never return the affection, and yet he did. A few months later, he moved in with me. No small feat, that, since he was living in Arkansas at the time. We built a life together. We got married. We created our own Independence Day fireworks, I suppose.
Our relationship couldn't stand up to time. Instead, last year we celebrated our independence by being independent of one another, he living his own life and I living mine. And yet, I look back with joy rather than sorrow, because what we had was real, it was magical, and it was ours, even if only for a time.
So I look to tomorrow in hope that lightening can strike twice, that the road to love is not a dead end, and that I'm not destined to be the crazy bitter divorcee surrounded by 11 cats. And while I'm at it, I think I'll play a game of Uno, watch the fireworks, eat a devilled egg and cry at the 1812 Overture. Here's to Independence Day, whatever it means to you.