Sometimes You Just Know . . .

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Your grandpa used to be a park ranger.  You know that's where I met him.  My girlfriend and I were visiting the state park and met him there.  I was engaged at the time.  I went home and wrote a letter breaking off the engagement and returned the ring.  Then your grandpa asked my girlfriend out.  Eventually they broke up, and my girlfriend encouraged me to go out with him, saying we'd be good together.


My grandmother told me the story of how she and my grandfather met.  Oh, what a love story!  They were married until the day he died, a marriage spanning 44 years.  


Sometimes you just know . . .

It was a Friday night.  I was one week into the first professional job of my career, and a week away from graduating with my bachelor's degree.  I arrived at my cousin's weeding rehearsal feeling quite on top of the world, but in a slight rush because I was running late.  As I pulled into the church parking lot, I was a bit relieved to see I was not the only one running late, but now I was also a bit confused.  I knew every person in the wedding party, so who was this person also arriving late mere moments before me?

The best man was supposed to be the groom's brother, but a week before the wedding he informed the groom he'd be unable to fulfill his duties.  The groom's best friend was now filling in.  And so I met him.  This very good looking, quiet man.

Later at the rehearsal dinner, I sat across the table from this man, trying to engage him in conversation.  I gathered pretty quickly that he was not much of a talker, but still, I was intrigued.

My grandparents' marriage spanned 44 years, but there were a few chinks in my grandparents' love story . . . like the alcoholism, and the adultery, and the children resulting from that adultery . . .  My grandmother never told me this part of the story . . . never acknowledged it . . . until many years later when her mind was ravaged by alzheimers.  I found it sad how of all the things this illness had stolen from her, the raw pain of that betrayal remained . . .

Strange how the memory works, even when it's perfectly healthy.  Because somehow, that night, as I thought about that love story, the chinks were forgotten.  As my sister and I drove home from rehearsal dinner in the pouring rain, I told her, "I'm going to marry the best man," and the next day, we walked down the aisle for the first time (maid of honor and best man).

Sometimes you just know . . .

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