Ford

It was the first Valentine’s Day after losing Riley.

I sipped on a stiff blackberry old-fashioned and took in the view around me. My whole body was numb, and I am sure I was still in a state of idleness and shock. Sitting beside and across from me was a group of my girlfriends. I somehow managed to dress up that night. I even curled my hair and did my make-up. It felt so surreal that I was the only one without a husband. The conversations around me blurred momentarily, and I completely drowned out the noise. I reached for my drink and caught a glimpse of my wedding ring. Time stopped. It sparkled in the dimly lit restaurant lighting. It was stunning. Suddenly, a relentless sting coursed through my whole body. It felt like my heartstrings were electrocuted. I snapped out of it and looked up at the long, elegant table full of my beautiful friends with their lovely wedding rings. At that moment, I was compelled to make an announcement.

I interrupted the conversations and said confidently, “I am never taking this ring off.”

Silence fell.

My friend’s gracious eyes greeted this statement with loving kindness. Their empathetic facial expressions nodded in agreement and solidarity- even if they did not believe it was true. Whatever their real feelings and opinions were about my ring, I would have never known because I felt backed. Completely validated. But I wasn’t finished… I went on and swore that I would never date again. Never get remarried. I vowed I would purposely be alone for the rest of my life and show the world how strong I was. I would prove I could do this alone and raise Khloe as a single mom. Not only did I announce I would do these things, but I made it very clear that I would do them well. I am an achiever, after all. I would take on whatever life hit me with and crush it. The proclamations that spewed from my lips flirted with arrogance, and I’m sure it may have even felt like a brave-heart moment. On that night in February, when love was purposely celebrated and cherished, I proclaimed I would never let myself feel it again. I made it known that love only happens once in a lifetime. I was confident that the grief-stricken shackles that bound up my broken heart so tightly… would never unlock for anyone else…ever again. I held the keys tightly in my fists and said I would never give them up.

 For a while in my grief journey, I prided myself in this independence—this unshakeable strength. I had a massive chip on my shoulder that would not fall off, even if I wanted it to. Maybe it was all the weight I had to carry, all the pressure that rested on my weary shoulders. Whatever it was, I told myself a ridiculous story that I had something to prove. I had to put on a brave face and show everyone I could do it all by myself. In the early days and months as a widow and single mom, I hated asking for help. It made me feel weak, and if you are reading this and know me, you know weakness is something I hate to be perceived as. I hate appearing incapable or fragile. But the truth is I was both of those things. This stage of my grief was exhausting. Honestly, it was flat-out debilitating. But then a shift emerged…as if it could get any worse. During those blurry days, a new feeling and emotion began to move into my heart and home.

Loneliness

There was a bone-chilling silence that tapped me on my shoulder. It lurched in the gaps of my life as a single parent throughout my day, but it showed up in full force at night. It was after I had fought the good fight through supper and bedtime. After Khloe was fast asleep, I wandered out into my giant living room. Footsteps slow. Footsteps worn. Footsteps heavy. They echoed off the walls of my home—a constant reminder of the stillness that moved in when Riley went to heaven. I often collapsed into a heap of grief and exhaustion. I sunk into the comfort of my sofa with a blanket and soft pillow. I don’t watch television often, so that did not win my distraction. Instead, I would assemble puzzles, read, write, or scroll my phone. Sometimes, I would stare at the ceiling.

For the first calendar year of my grief, this loneliness was all-consuming, and in a moment of pure human weakness, I saw an opportunity for relief…what I believed to be a rare stream in the desert. When I saw this shimmery glimpse in the distance, I decided to walk toward it and dip my toe in. It wasn’t love I was searching for, no, because I vowed I would never feel that again. My heart was dead. It was incapable. It was looking for an antidote to my unhappiness. Maybe it was joy or a thrill I was after. I’m not sure. I just know I was so lost and needed to feel something. So I walked toward what I believed was a stream. I pursued a relationship that left me feeling worse than before. The idea of this person and future was just a mirage. It wasn’t even real, and it certainly didn’t fix any of the feelings or emotions I was trudging through daily. That relationship left me so emotionally bruised and battered I hardly recognized myself when I got out. I felt insecure and so very broken…and then I spiraled.

Grief is so messy, complicated, and raw. It's unpredictable and ugly. This was a hideous part of my grief journey. If there was a stage called insanity, here was my marker. We have all run from feelings we do not want to face. But I was not just running- I was sprinting. Sprinting from the pain, the grief, the trauma, and my very harsh reality. Sprinting under a sun-drenched sky does go well, my friends. It is deadly. I was gassed and about to hit a massive wall. I could only run away for so long. I needed water, I needed shade, I needed Jesus. But, despite these feelings, I wandered the wilderness. I continued to run.

I immediately downloaded dating apps and searched for the next thing to sustain me. It’s funny yet equally troubling how in our heart of hearts we know that Jesus is the only one who can quench our thirst, but we still try to find the water somewhere else. There had to be an oasis around the corner waiting for me, and I was certain it would not be a mirage this time.

I pulled up into a sports bar parking lot for one of my online dates. It is astounding I did not have an ounce of nerves inside me. I guess I just figured I had nothing to lose. I had no idea what I was doing, but I put my lip gloss on, checked my make-up and phone one last time, and hopped out of my truck. I confidently walked up to the building and opened the door. Sitting at the bar was my date; for the sake of this story, we’ll call him Ford because he drove a red F-150. When our eyes met, he gave me a massive smile across the room and stood up. He motioned for me to come over and sit next to him at the bar. He greeted me with a strong and affectionate hug, and I pulled up a seat.

Ford was stalky, fit, and an ex-marine. The dude totally worked out. He had a picture-perfect smile and stunning eyes. They were so kind and inviting, and his whole presence exuded a good time. I instantly felt a connection with him. I was also somewhat shocked I met my match in the big personality department. He seemed like a lot of fun, and I could already tell we had similar personalities. Extrovert overload! He leaned in close to me, and our knees touched. “Wow, you are way prettier in person! Look at you!” he said with a huge, playful grin, “Your eyes are gorgeous!”

Dopamine flooded my brain.

I ordered a Busch Light and settled in. The compliments and beer kept flowing. There was not a single lull in conversation for three hours. Flirt alert! I sat back and listened as he gave me exactly what I came for. He was another stream in my desert, and I desperately needed water. I was incredibly thirsty for the validation that cascaded from his lips. We talked about sports, religion, politics, music, you name it, and it was covered. We had so much in common; it was mind-blowing. The time flew, and soon, it was time to end our night.

Ford walked me out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. “Dang, you’re tall, gorgeous, AND drive an F-150?! You’re a total badass. You might be the coolest woman I’ve ever met.” I wasn’t sure what to do with all the compliments he kept hitting me with, so I just laughed them off. I thought, “Jeez, this guy is such a player; he probably tells every girl he goes out with all these lines.” He grabbed a hold of my waist with one hand while lifting my chin with the other. My shoulders melted. I fell back against my pickup, and he kissed me goodbye. I was a bit shell-shocked. After all, I had been out of the dating game for eleven years! All of this was so brand new to me that it took me a moment to catch my breath, both physically and metaphorically! We said our goodbyes, and I got in my truck. I pulled away from the restaurant and got on the interstate. Tears started to flow. “What the hell was I doing?” I thought to myself. “What just happened?” I could not figure out the discontentment that flooded my heart. Ford just spent three hours telling me exactly what I “needed” to hear and ended it with a show-stopping finale. Most girls would have been completely swept off their feet. So why did I still feel so lost and empty?

When I got home, I made a very bold phone call. I dialed Ford’s number, and he picked up immediately. We chatted for a couple of minutes about our date, and then I told him I would not be seeing him again. I shut it down completely. I told him I was not in a place for a relationship and going out with him was a mistake. I didn’t want to lead him on or use him to cure my loneliness. I could hear the confusion that lingered through the phone. There was a long pause, and he said, “Ok, you shoot it straight. I like that. I respect that. I won’t argue with you, but know that was the best first date I’ve ever been on.” My heart was torn because I had a great time with him, but I stuck to my guns, and we both agreed that we would not pursue each other.

I decided to call it quits on the dating apps. I lasted precisely one week. Wednesday to Wednesday. I went on three dates in five business days. My heart was not ready for any of the emotions that came with finding a significant other, and unfortunately, I had to come to this realization on my own. So, I spent the next two months in a constant state of healing, prayer, and reflection. I set some big goals and signed up for another half marathon. I went on a couple of trips, spent extra time with friends, focused on having fun with Khloe, and started feeling like myself again. One day, I was lacing up my running shoes and about to hit the trails. I had a long run that day and was stretching with Khloe on my living room floor when suddenly my phone rang. I jumped up and grabbed it off the kitchen island. I could hardly believe whose number was flashing across my screen. It was Ford. Why the heck was he calling me? I picked up. “Hello?” I said in complete confusion. “Hey! The Tim McGraw concert looked like fun last night, I want to hear all about it. Let’s grab beers and go watch basketball.”

My heart skipped. I was giddy. This guy knew me way too well. “Jeez, we are the same person, that sounded like the perfect date night.” I thought; I impulsively replied, “That sounds like so much fun, I would love to!” We picked out a time and place, and I hung up. My mom was in my living room staring at me in shock and said, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I started to second-guess myself. My heart was beating so fast, and I was so excited. I wanted to go on this date but was conflicted about my intentions with Ford. I was still not in a place to be dating someone. I agreed with my mom and said, “Uhg, you are right.” I laced up my sneakers and went on my run. I remember crying out to God and just pouring my heart out repeatedly. I knew I wasn’t ready for this. When I got home, I called Ford back. It was so, so hard, but I said, “I am so sorry,  I don’t want to lead you on. I can’t go out with you tonight.” He was so kind. He did not push it. He just said, “Ok, I respect that. It doesn’t have to be a date; we can just be friends.” That sounded incredibly tempting, but I still said no.

Over the next few weeks, I would get random phone calls from Ford asking me out on dates, and each time, I said no. I’ll give it to this guy; he sure knew how to take one on the cheek, but he persisted. I think he liked the chase. He pursued me, and finally, I gave in. Ford and I started seeing each other, first as friends. He was so fun to be around; I loved every second of it. Pretty soon, he made it on my Google calendar, and we went out every week. I found myself counting down the days until I would see him again.

One night in particular will stand still in my mind forever. He surprised me with a four-wheeler ride to a local lake. I borrowed one of his sweatshirts and hopped on the back. I sincerely felt like I was in high school again. There was something about him that made me feel like a sixteen-year-old. Soon, we were out of town, and the city lights were behind us. He hit the gas hard, I jolted forward and held him tight. A child-like freedom coursed through my entire body. I hadn’t felt like this in years. We drove fast down gravel roads with no names while blurred-out cornfields raced beside us. It was so thrilling. It was innocent. It was so much fun. He took me around all the places where he grew up, and we talked about everything you could think of. The sun was starting to set, and he timed it out perfectly. I had no idea he had this in store. We parked, and he walked me down to a dock and sat beside the water. Together, we watched the sunset, and it was a perfect night.

We talked for hours, and my cheeks and abs hurt from all the belly laughs. It seemed like we never ran out of things to talk about. He held my hand tightly, quickly becoming one of my favorite things about him. I loved his hands because they were bigger than mine and calloused over. They looked like worn-out leather and felt rough and robust yet gentle all at once. Touching his hands were always a reminder of his hard work ethic, and for whatever reason, I couldn’t get enough. We layed on the dock, and I rested my neck on his bicep.

In this tiny moment, I realized a massive thing.

I learned what his presence and touch did to my entire nervous system. I had felt it with him before, but this time was different. It was like a thousand pounds lifted. I slowly lowered my heavy fighter fists. I tore down the walls I built up so high. I completely let go of the brave face and tough front I had worn for far too long. I rested in this moment. I could just be me. I had absolutely nothing to prove when I was with Ford.

With a perfect summer sky and the lake water splashing beside us, I closed my eyes. I felt calm from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I felt at ease. I felt taken care of. I felt safety. Like nothing on this earth could touch me. My body experienced natural physical relief for the first time since tragedy flipped my life upside down. He turned on our favorite country radio playlist and with a tight squeeze around my neck, he gently kissed me on my forehead. I immediately had that feeling you get when you are approaching the tippy top of a rollercoaster, you know the one where your heart and stomach beat you to the bottom?

I think my heart stopped beating for a moment.

I flashed back to the dimly lit restaurant a year and a half before on that February night. I remembered my valiant speech about the bitterness and stubbornness I harbored toward love. I remember gripping my whiskey glass while confidently stating that it would never, ever find me. Yet here I was, heart pounding, head spinning, and an intense feeling rushing through me.

A feeling I thought I would never feel.

My heart was alive again, and it wasn’t just alive.

It was in love.

In that moment I untightened my fists and gave up the keys I swore I’d never let loose.

I handed them over.

They belonged to Ford now.