I'm sitting at a coffee shop across from TJ. We're drinking tea and writing, respectively. He keeps a journal with an actual pen and paper. It's timeless and lovely and I don't have the patience for it, myself. I write on a phone or a computer--something with a delete button handy because I edit so much.
Which reminds me of the first email I wrote to him, because for once, I didn't edit enough. He interviewed me at his previous radio station after a YouTube video I was in went viral. I left that building wondering if I'd ever see him again and by the next day, I realized I'd like to see him again. So I wrote him an entirely too long email, essentially asking him to be my friend. And then went on to specifically say "just friends, though," because "I'd had a rough time already and wasn't looking for a relationship." You guys. I said this in way too many words that equaled like multiple paragraphs worth of an email that I sent before I could chicken out.
TJ got that email, read all those words and protestations, and immediately decided: She likes me. Which annoys me still, because I guess I did, but I honestly thought I just wanted him as a friend. I'd never met anyone so kind, funny, and interesting in my life before and who doesn't want the most kind, interesting, and funny human as their friend?
I'm so glad we became friends, so glad he became my boyfriend, so glad he's my husband. He's all three of those things to me, still, and it's daily medicine for my soul, my heart, my brain, even the backs of my knees. "I spoke with your husband for ten minutes on the phone--just about insurance--but I could hear it," my therapist said, "The way he loves you, Jess. I didn't even know you yet, but it warmed my heart to hear how willing he is to do whatever he can to make sure you get the help you need right now." I nodded. "I know," I said, "He is proof that God cares about me and that the grief I've known and know now is not the whole story." (Image credit: @rachelliuphoto )