Love & Let Love

         When Big Daddy and I started dating for the second time, I was skeptical about whether it was a viable relationship. We had been high school sweethearts, and when it ended near the turn of the century, it ended badly. Almost exactly twenty years since our very first date, he stopped in to see my dad. They had kept in touch over the years, but this time he was passing through on a trip as he lived in a different province. Fresh off a separation himself, he nearly fell off his chair when my dad and stepmom told him that I was also separated and single. He showed up on my doorstep that evening, blowing off his plans to go visit a buddy. We’ve been inseparable ever since, but not because conditions were favourable.

         At first, I thought, ‘Oh, this prick.’ The one that broke my heart. The one that had a baby and got married to a girl right after we split. The one I could never stop loving, no matter how angry it had made me over the past two decades. The one with too much male sexual energy. I referred to him as ‘The Walking Hard-On’. My mind was made up about him. ‘He’s a dog,’ I thought. ‘he’ll hurt me again if I give him the chance.’

         He was irresistible. The way he looked at me threw me in knots. So, I decided it would only be a fling with an old flame. We could never work. Besides our past, he lived in another province and his sons lived there too. He couldn’t leave where he was, and neither could I for the same reasons. Certain that he still needed to sow his post-divorce wild oats, I didn’t expect anything but a good time. For the first few months, I staunchly maintained that we were not exclusive. He, on the other hand, told me that he had never stopped loving me and that we were meant to be together. I thought he was crazy and told him as much. But the man was crazy in love.

         His mother had died a couple of months before we started dating in high school. We grew up in a small town where everyone knew everyone else, and I had met her a few times before. When I felt myself inevitably falling head over heels for goddamn Ricky Tucker a second time, I wasn’t surprised when her spirit came to me. I remember it clearly; I’d been spiralling for days. Grappling with the out-of-control feeling that accompanies love. Standing in my kitchen asking myself on repeat, “What do I do?” He was my kryptonite, and I was terrified of getting my heart broken like before.

         When she showed up amidst my obsessive worry, she very loudly, clearly gave me my answer. I listened. She said to me, ‘Just love him, and let him love you.’ Sound advice Brenda, but where do I find the courage to walk back into the fire of our love after getting burned so badly? I argued with her, but she was adamant. The answer was simple, but it wasn’t easy. I took her words to heart. As counterintuitive as it was to my resistant mindset, it was the best thing I could have done. The bit about letting him love me, in his way, was the most difficult part. I had to let go of control, of myself, of him, of the circumstances. I had to allow the love to flow naturally, without worry about how it would work out, and it did. If I hadn’t heeded her advice, I likely would have kyboshed the whole thing before it even started.

         Once I let go and let love, everything fell into place. He had told me his career would never bring him closer to me, but soon afterward he got a job fifteen minutes away from my house. He decided to stay with me for the duration of the job, which was a blur of passion and elation. We both felt like that was the best it would ever get. His youngest son still lived in B.C., and Ric shared custody with his mother. At thirteen he still needed his dad, and Ric couldn’t leave him, which I admired. His contract ended up going longer than he thought, and Ric shuttled himself back and forth to be with his son when he got the odd days off. We were blown away when, by fall, his son asked to move provinces with Ric and into my home, blending our families. Love found a way.

         The most romantic gift Ric has given me was on our first Valentine’s Day together after we reunited. He gave me a vase. It was beautiful, but just another item to collect dust on a shelf somewhere. I opened it and politely thanked him, and he laughed and told me to look inside. There were a million little papers folded up. I took one out, then another, and read them. Each one was a little love note. The things he loves about me, the little memories we share, how I make him feel, and his wishes for our future. I melted. This April, it’ll be six blissful years for us. We share the same excitement to be with one another. Partly because we waited so long for our love to come around, and partly because it almost didn't. It feels like a little miracle every day that we get to be each other's. He still consistently adds more to the vase, now brimming with his love notes. He likes to spoil me, buying me the most beautiful jewelry over the years, but the love note vase will always be my most cherished possession. I take them out and read them when he’s away working, or when he’s pissed me off. It works like a salve.

         The moral of this story is to love, and let love in. Take that risk on love, be in the moment, revel in what it brings, and let go of your fear about the outcome. Your practical nature may tell you it’s too risky, but the rewards of opening yourself to the impossible, improbable, and impractical, in the pursuit of love, could be endless. Endless like the string of love notes that, no matter how our story goes, will sustain my heart until I leave this earth.

 Leah Marguerite