Not the Marrying Kind

I’ve often thought of myself as Paul…or maybe that would be Paulette.  Paul was a strong, single man that had no interest in love. His mission was his life.  He didn’t see himself as the marrying type.  I took on that same mantra – I’m just not the marrying type.  I tried being married.  I wasn’t good at it. It didn’t end well.  It ended with me being a single mother of three wonderful boys, but not the ending I expected. Why try again? I’m good with three kids – let’s not go for six.

In spite of my apprehension with marriage, dating was less appalling. My church encouraged dating as a way to build friendships.  Friendships…I was good at. I grew up with three brothers so most of the men just accepted me as an honorary guy. I loved my female friends and had many close ones, but my male friends filled my need to surround myself with brothers. No romantic interests – but still male companionship.  The perfect world, in my mind.

One Saturday night, I was on a date with a friend that was not going well.  He got lost on the way to the venue – a little coffee shop that played live music.  My dates’ determination to not ask for directions made me irritable. We were out in the middle of nowhere…in the dark…and I assumed our decapitated bodies would end up on the news the next day.  We finally found the packed coffee shop only to discover no inside seating left and a very underworking air conditioner. It was extremely hot, crowded and not my best evening.  I was looking for a quick end to the night so I politely asked for a private conversation outside.

This nice-looking man standing next to us struck up a conversation before I could request a mercy end to the evening.  He was personable and seemed to have not a care in the world. It didn’t matter that the coffee shop was hot. It didn’t matter that the music was loud. He was just having a great time, hanging out by himself, on a Saturday night. He was a Navy man and not on the ship…that’s all he needed…dry land for a bit before he pushed off again.

We invited Eric to church. I was amazed to see him there the next day. He met a wealth of people and soon became part of the congregation. We spoke on occasion but never interacted more than a passing greeting…until he got the talk about building friendships with dating.  He didn’t know many women in the church, so I was an easy choice. He asked me on a date.

We spent an evening running around town and just talking about life.  We talked about his Navy career and divorce from a short-lived marriage – very similar to mine. He had no children; he parented two dogs instead. I had three boys that were the center of my life.  I still didn’t have room for anyone else.  The one thing that stuck with me, however, after the date…was how much we laughed together.  We both quoted movie lines like they were factual bits of information.  We both loved Montey Python, even though it seemed kind of sacrilegious.

The first date was followed by a second and a third and my conviction on being Paulette started to waiver.  I tried pushing him in other directions – there were several women in the congregation that wanted marriage.  I was still convinced that I was not the marrying kind.  I did start to question, however….what kind is that?  The kind that stays alone forever? The kind that clings to past hurts?  Or maybe the kind that is raising three boys and wanted them to become the type of man that she was saying wasn’t good enough for her?  My head was a mess trying to figure it all out.  I’m not good at being married, I told myself.  I tried it…it didn’t work.  Deep inside, however, I knew that maybe….just maybe….the combination was wrong in my first marriage.  Maybe what I really needed was just to be married to someone else.  Not anyone else…but the right someone else.  My first marriage didn’t fall apart because I was defective, or he was defective. It fell apart because we were never good together from the beginning.  We wanted different things. I can never regret my first marriage because it allowed me to bring three amazing men into the world.  For that, I will always be grateful to my first husband.

When Eric proposed, I was terrified.  Terror turned to hope.  Hope turned to acceptance that this was exactly where I was supposed to be and exactly who I was supposed to be with.  We have now been married 17 years.  We still laugh at stupid things together and have managed to successfully send my (only now we call them “our”) three boys out into the world.  Finding love the second time was really finding it the first time for me.  While Eric is my second husband, he is my first true love. So while I may not be the marrying kind with anyone else, I’m definitely the marrying kind with him.