I don't really know where this story should start!
Perhaps it should begin on July 19th, 2010....
Just to bring you up to speed, I had been separated from my husband for a few months and was up in MN for a visit. Our parents knew about the separation but we were hoping to keep our business down in Arizona until we knew what we were going to do: Try once again to make it work, or walk away.
It was not unusual for the kids and I to spend a couple weeks at a time in Minnesota. At this point I had been working for a health club from home since February.
All I needed was my laptop and wireless.
I spent a week or so up with my family and then headed down to the Minneapolis area so The Blondes could spend a few days with their Dad's family, they could throw a birthday party for them at the end of the week, and I could work out of the corporate office.
We got in on a Sunday night and we were going to stay with my mother-in-law (who has loved us wonderfully and unconditionally since Day 1, I must add).
That night, I learned that essentially everybody in the extended family was well-aware of our split.
This devastated me.
It was one thing for me to put on a front and act like life on the other side of the country was perfect--I was incredibly good at that! I had no trouble stepping outside myself and playing the part of a happy wife in a committed marriage. But to see friends and relatives throughout the week and finally culminate our visit with a birthday party with everyone? With my newly shattered facade?!?
Seriously--I'm not exactly sure what a panic attack is, but I believe I may have experienced one.
Discretely, of course.
The next Monday morning was July 19th.
I left the Blondes with Grandma and went to a Caribou down the street. My plan was to work there for the day, mooch their wireless and alternate between a latte buzz and that sluggish feeling one has after consuming her 2nd muffin.
Oh--And I was also going to feel sorry for myself. All I wanted to do was pack up The Blondes and just run away.
At one point, I got up to use the restroom.
On my walk back, I noticed there was a guy at the table kind of kitty-corner and behind where I had been sitting. He must have gotten there while I was up.
Was that one of the guys from the training class I had been to in February when I started this job?
There had been about 10 of us and I was the only one from the group working from Arizona.
What... was ...his .... name??
Now, I assure you, I wasn't trying to hit on him or anything. I'm from a small town. When you're from a small town, it thrills you when you run into someone you know when you're anywhere but within the city limits of said small town.
I felt I should say "Hi."
Because that's what small town people do.
I didn't want to just start up a conversation with a guy who I may or may not have met five months ago ... who may or may not be named... what was it? Joe? Yeah. Pretty sure, Joe.
SO, I searched our company's database and sure enough! There's a "Joe" listed as a Web Specialist.
I sent him a very generic email because if it's not him, he will just chalk it up to that weirdo in AZ sending out random messages again. (I do this kind of a lot.)
So I simply wrote, "I just love Caribou Coffee, don't you??"
How brilliant am I?!
Because of course, Everybody DOES! And if he isn't the guy 19 inches away from my right elbow, no worries!
I'm like Nancy Drew without the sensible pleated pants.
I hit Send.
Almost instantly I heard his Outlook email "Bing"
I watched him out of the corner of my eye.
He glanced at the bottom of his screen--you know, where the messages pop up--and kind of squinted.
Kind of cocked his head to the side.
Then he looked up.
Our eyes met.
I went into "Small town girl runs into someone she knows at a coffee shop" mode and spastically waved.
"Hi!"I said.
"Hi," He said. "Aren't you the one from Arizona?"
"I am! I'm just here visiting family and needed some wireless." (I also needed, it would appear, that extra shot of espresso and a little table fort made out of muffin wrappers.)
He brought his laptop over to my table and we worked together.
It was like playing Battleship, only nerdier.
He asked how our trip had been, how long we were in town... all kinds of pleasantries, really.
Then he said, "Wow--that's really great! I'm sure your husband misses you and the kids."
Pause.
Pause.
While I can't recreate my soliloquy quite as elegantly as I rattled it off in that crowded Caribou, and I certainly cannot recapture my shrill, cracking voice, my response was something like this, "You know what, Joe?? I don't think he does. We have actually been separated now for a few months. In fact, he was supposed to come to town this week because his family is throwing a birthday party for our kids and he was going to be here for it and guess what--he's not coming. Oh--and not only is he not coming, but *I* am going to be there. Annnnnd all of them know about the separation so all I can think about is at the end of the week, I am going to have to face these people, who all know I am a failure at marriage and really, you know, LIFE... and I am going to have to either pretend everything is fine--which won't work, because They KNOW, Joe, OR I am going to spend the day answering questions and dodging bullets. Either way, I will be drinking a LOT of wine."
I'm sure there was more, but this isn't really the best part of the story.
Plus, you know how reserved I am.
My dad put it well when he said I "Airplaned" him. This means I sat down, unloaded all my problems on the complete stranger who was lucky enough to be sitting next to me and who I probably won't see again. Then, I planned to go on my merry way, feeling better at having gotten a year's worth of awkwardly personal issues off my chest.
Yep. I airplaned him.
"Wow," he said. "That's really tough."
"Yeah," I fired back, "It really is. It freaking sucks."
Pause.
"I'm having a rough day, too," he finally says, not really making eye contact.
"Really Joe? Well, by all means--let's talk about this. What's going on in your world?"
Again he sighs, "Today would have been my wife Jodi's 39th birthday."
I know for you reading this, you just kind of froze.
It hits you, doesn't it.
Me, too.
I remembered he had lost his wife very suddenly right around Christmas the year before. I remembered he had two little boys.
I stopped my pity party.
There was pain in his eyes and I could tell just saying that out loud to me was a bit startling for him.
We stumbled through my "Oh my gosh, I am so incredibly sorry's" and his "Thank you, the boys and I are starting to do a little better each day's."
Our conversation evolved and we talked about Jodi, this amazing woman, wife, mother and 8th grade English teacher.
We talked about her generous spirit and her solid beliefs that ranged from "Everybody deserves to be treated equal" to "Dessert is a non-negotiable and somewhat large part of every dinner."
We talked and laughed and told stories that day.
He told me he and the boys were going to go clean up a park that afternoon in Jodi's honor.
I thought that was a great and noble idea.
I also suggested they celebrate.
Get a cake, light some candles, make wishes and blow them out.
After we went our separate ways that day, we thanked each other for listening and for the talk.
Later that night, he texted me a picture of he and his boys, out on the pontoon boat, with a giant birthday cake in front of them.
He said something changed that day.
That somehow his life got brighter.
Things changed for me as well. After months of anxiety leading up to the separation and then the emotional crap house that was the separation, I felt... calm.
I had gained perspective.
I had two beautiful, healthy children. After I finally let everyone in my family and close group of friends know about my failed marriage, I had more support than I could have imagined.
We both grew stronger.
After I got back to Arizona, we would Skype and talk for hours. We got each other through all those shitty, solo "firsts." We decorated our houses for Christmas "together" from 1652 miles away. He saw my lows and was a big part of my highs.
We went through a lot together.
And fell in love.
And prayed.
And wished on stars.
And a couple years later, in that very special Caribou Coffee, he asked me to marry him.
And I don't think for a second it's a coincidence we met on Jodi's birthday. She was watching over him and taking care of him and we think she spotted the hot mess just kitty-corner from him and thought, "Aaaah. Now that could work."
And she's right.
