It’s 10pm here and I’ve spent all afternoon thinking of things I want to write about. It’s been 2 years. That’s how much is pent up inside of me. Two years worth of thoughts and feelings and emotions.

I met a man who was kind and funny and sweet but was also still figuring shit out, carrying a lot of baggage, and not at all who I thought I was looking for. But he made me laugh and he listened and I started to fall in love with him.

But six months in and I was… concerned. I was trying to get my life together and it didn’t seem like he was the right fit. He was messy, both with his things but also in his life. He came with two kids and you know, their mother. I didn’t think it was going to work long term.

I spoke to him about my misgivings. How I wanted more from life and I didn’t think he was ready or willing to meet me half way. I was looking for a way out. And he knew that. He was guarded, told me to do what I thought was best.

The most frustrating line from a person who you want to be with!

Then the bottom fell out from under him. That summer I had to watch someone I loved struggle without a way to really help. I thought, “It can’t really get much worse than this.”

I was wrong.

He started complaining about pain. Went to see several doctors, got a bunch of tests, even more useless treatments. And then one day, he received a call that said, “Come to the emergency room tomorrow morning. Ask for me and I’ll come get you right away.”

That was September 2018. Nine months into our relationship – a relationship that I wasn’t even sure I still wanted to be in. I didn’t know what it was or how bad it was going to get – God, I had NO CLUE. But I went with him and as I sat there, listening to the doctors and watching him receive the news about a mass in his spine, I just kept thinking…

Thank God you found me when you did. This is where I’m supposed to be.