It was Sunday, and we had to return to work tomorrow. When we arrived back at the apartment, I poured myself a glass of white wine and retrieved a beer for Graham out of the refrigerator. We talked for a while that evening about how he was feeling. Overwhelmed was the general theme. He stated that he was going to be spending as much time as possible with him, and that might mean that his time for me may suffer somewhat with what time his father had left.

                Graham’s father had decided not to go through the recommended chemotherapy and radiation. He knew the outlook and the price associated with foregoing the treatment, but he did not want to self-inflict any pain or suffering. Graham and I understood. Many evenings for the next seven months, I would eat alone. Part of me wanted to be with Graham and his family – being new to the family- but part of me decided that his time with his father should be his. I joined him on occasion, but it was rare. It was hard to endure the pain that his father was experiencing and I had a hard time with the harsh reality of the situation.

                Graham typically came home in a sour mood. For that I forgave him, but after some time of this mood being commonplace, I advised him to do his best to leave it at the door. Our marriage suffered greatly during those months. He too was growing callous to the situation and it was boiling over into time that was supposed to be spent with me. We didn’t walk in the evenings, I ate alone and most nights I went to bed alone.

                

Graham’s father went to work when he could. Between the little bit of work that he tried to do each day, there was many meetings with his estate planning attorney. He had done well over the years and his family was going to be well taken care of. Appropriate planning prior to getting sick was in place. Graham was going to inherit the house and the business. His mother would have a large sum of money from the insurance policies, and the necessary arrangements for his final wishes were taken care of. I thought of him often as it must be troubling to know that the end of this life is so near.

                

One morning, I had packed a note along with Graham’s lunch:

Graham,

I can’t begin to wrap my arms around the pain and emotional toll that this illness that your father is experiencing is taking on you. For the life of me, I don’t know what I would do if I were in your shoes. But in the same breath, I need you to be present. We have hardly spent any quality time together since I returned from Los Angeles. Perhaps I should not even have gone, but in retrospect, I feel I needed to go so that you could come to terms with this reality on your own that weekend while I was away. Nevertheless, you have become a ghost in the midst of my presence. While I have been praying for you, I am asking you to return to some resemblance of the man I married. We can walk down this road together, but you will have to let me in.

 Stephanie

                

Even as I wrote that letter, my hand was shaking. I was saying that I needed more of him and perhaps he did not have it to give. I continued to pray daily.

       

 Meanwhile, things were going well at my father’s engineering firm. My mother had been sending Graham cards as she saw them that she hoped would be uplifting. Nothing seemed to be able to clear the fog as he continued in his morose attitude and dealings. I began to resent him for the way he was going about dealing with the situation and I knew that afterward would begin the stages of grieving.

                Graham’s father died on the Sunday morning which was Father’s day. The services were held on Tuesday and Graham had decided to close the business for the next ten days. I encouraged him to take the vacation time and additionally encouraged him to get away for a few days. He took my advice, but it didn’t seem to help. He had gone to spend some time with Paul, his best man in our wedding. Paul was now living in Minnesota, so Graham was able to get completely out of Roanoke for that time. He recounted that they spent many evenings at the bar. I was thrilled to say the least.

                I was determined not to let the grieving process linger for the rest of the year, as it seemed that he had begun down a destructive road that he may not make it back from. I urged him to consult a doctor. Reluctantly, he agreed. He was given a one-month supply of anti-depressants at which time they would reassess his mood in thirty days.

                Graham continued to flounder, but his mother was recovering well. Probate was not an issue as the insurance policies paid out a sum of $2.7 million dollars to his mother which was set up to funnel through a trust at the rate of $90,000 for thirty years. Graham’s mother was sixty-six years old at the time of her husband’s death and the money would surely carry her through the rest of her days. Graham had inherited the business and would surely be able to provide for us on his salary alone as he and his father had built a large clientele. Life would surely turn around, wouldn’t it?

                Graham was no more interested in the things that I as a woman needed to feel secure. The money was no consolation for a relationship that was spiraling at an alarming rate. He continued on the anti-depressants through the end of the year. The holiday season was just as bland, but perhaps with the turning of a new year might also allow Graham to turn a new leaf.

                On New Year’s Eve, I made reservations at Frankie Rowland’s. This is where Graham had proposed and I thought it might be a place where he would have a good memory to revert back to en route to moving on. I was wrong again. I began to wonder if our relationship would ever take a turn for the better.

                

When tax season arrived, Graham engrossed himself in his work. He was working seventeen-hour days. At least I could say that he was spending his time on something that might provide for some light at the end of the tunnel. As he churned through the day and night, he only grew tired and weary. Again, I thought that maybe after tax season was over, things might change. My mother continued to send cards and letters in an attempt to provide a backbone of faith and possibly renewal. During this time, Graham continued to attend church with us on Sunday mornings, but even that was not effective. He had grown cold to anything that might bring him back from the doldrums of his father’s passing.

               

                Having grown tired of the morose days with Graham, I spent as much time with my mother and father as possible. I was going over to dinner at their house a few nights a week and taking the time each Saturday to go and visit my mother, do laundry and take long walks on the farm. Thirty was staring me straight in the face as it was only a couple of years away.

                The next two years were seemingly unimportant to Graham with respect to our relationship. In February, I turned thirty. Graham had forgotten my birthday which I didn’t think was possible. There was no candlelight dinner, no presents, and no time spent together. My birthday came and passed. For women, thirty seems to be a big deal. Looking back, I see it not as a milestone to turn away from, but something to cherish; especially since it wasn’t forty. I was young and vibrant. My relationship was anything but.

                One afternoon, Graham came home from work. He had stated that he wanted to talk with me about something that was unpleasant. Without the hesitation that I was expecting before the big news, he simply stated that he thought he was gay. Gay? How could this be? In a moment’s notice, I began to cry and rushed out the door. I had forgotten my car keys and had to go back in the house. Graham was still standing in the foyer as if there was something more to talk about. I immediately turned around and headed for the car. I wanted to get away from him and this place in a New York minute. The car did not start when I first turned the key. Rats! On the second try, it started and I was crying in the car the entire way to my mother’s house. Sobbing so hard, I could hardly breathe, I drove at an unbelievable pace from Roanoke to Fincastle.

                

Upon reaching my mother’s front door, tears still streamed from my face and I could feel that my eyes were swelling to the point of closing. I tried to get out the words when my mother asked what was wrong, but I couldn’t. I went directly to my room and continued to sob in a furious manner with thoughts of disbelief. Our relationship was over, and I knew that. Graham would surely be packing as we spoke and would move in with his mother. At any rate, if he had not moved out by the time I would return home on Sunday, he would certainly be ushered out that day. How had this happened? I thought that having sex only six times in six years of marriage was nothing short of marriage suicide, but how and why did I deserve this?

               

  When I returned home the following day, he was gone. I surmised that he had moved back in with his mother, but I didn’t care. It was finished.

               

               

               

My 30’s

                I had wasted no time with this decision as I had my decision to leave Vanderbilt. On Friday, I had been given the most wonderful news of my short marriage. On Monday, I filed for divorce.

                I needed to clear my head, and for some reason that next thought turned toward my inward promise to visit Rona. She had graduated from medical school and was doing her residency in family medicine at a clinic in Knoxville. Perhaps she could provide me with some company and comfort.             I decided not to phone ahead, but instead to jump in the car and take a drive. If she could find time in her busy schedule to get together with me, I would give her the time.

                The drive to Knoxville was uneventful, but the whole time I thought about what I would say. How could I explain that I had spent six years with a man in a marriage only to find out that he “thought” he was gay? I thought for a moment for other reasons that I could tell Rona about what had gone wrong, but the truth would have to suffice.

                I arrived in Knoxville on Tuesday afternoon. I knew she would be working, so I simply went to my hotel and checked in. I would not bother to call her till evening. I was feeling hunger pains coming on, so I decided to visit a local restaurant for a bite to eat. A cold salad and a nice warm cup of tea might do the trick. It was a local diner. There were not many people in the diner that afternoon, so I was able to just listen to my own thoughts as I enjoyed my food. I hadn’t had a cup of Rooibos tea in a while and while it was tempting, I opted for Earl Grey. The salad was spinach with some walnuts, cherry tomato, a trio of cheeses, and some raspberry vinaigrette dressing. Simple elegance.  Not wanting to focus on just my thoughts, I watched people walk by through the window. I wondered where they were going and for what purpose. Off to a meeting? Meeting someone for lunch? Was anybody but me going to the courthouse like I had done yesterday?

                I finished my salad and sipped on my tea slowly. I was offered another cup and graciously accepted. The bill was more than reasonable and I felt the waitress needed a good tip. I left her a twenty. It was a short walk back to my hotel and a nap seemed like the best idea for the rest of the afternoon. I set my alarm for 5:30 P.M. Surely I would be able to get Rona on the phone shortly after.

                I called Rona shortly before six. In a very proper voice she answered. I explained that I was in town for a few days and asked if she would have time to see me. She was to my surprise excited to hear my voice on the other end of the line and said she would absolutely make time to see me. We set a date for drinks at 8:00 P.M. that evening.

                Keeping with the theme of simple elegance, I donned a little black dress for the occasion. She had picked an upscale bar in downtown. There was no reason not to look my best as I would soon be “on the market” again. I was not going to let my thirties pass me by without finding true love. I took a cab to the bar in downtown. It was classy; cherry wood walls with picture boxes, and a bar that resembled the shape of a surfboard. It reminded me of a place back home called 419 West.

               

  The atmosphere was calm yet classy. I was happy when I walked in as I had dressed appropriately for the occasion. Most of the men were dressed in suits, having just left work it seemed and eager for a scotch or bourbon. I ordered a dry martini and waited for Rona. She walked in the door about ten minutes after eight. She too had dressed for the occasion in a red dress that was form fitting and complimented completely her southern smile and red hair. She kissed me as if we were in France, once on each cheek and gave me a hug. Jokingly, she said that she hoped I would not go running for Roanoke after the short embrace.

               

  I had come to Knoxville as a place of respite and to tell her the news. It was not long before I got it off my chest so that she and I could enjoy the rest of the evening. She was completely surprised to which I stated that I was more surprised than she. When I told her the news, her eyes were as wide as her Georgia smile in disbelief. After all, we had both known Graham, she not as much, but never in a million years did either of us think that this would be the cause and utter demise of my divorce.  When I had finished with my sob story, I stated that I was not going to cry or mull over the situation. I had simply filed for divorce yesterday and had come to Knoxville to get far away from Roanoke on Tuesday.

                

At her request, I accepted an invitation to stay at her place for the rest of the week. It was a two-bedroom studio not far from downtown and she agreed that I needed a few days to clear my head. She would show me the best of Knoxville in the evenings. I decided I would stay until Saturday and that would allow me to get up early Saturday morning and still make it out to my Mom’s by early afternoon.

               

  I slept in on Wednesday morning which is something I hadn’t done in a while. When I awoke, Rona had already gone for the day, but left me a short note on the counter. She was going to work Wednesday and Thursday and request to have Friday off so that we could have the day to ourselves. She also noted that there was tea in the cupboard that I might be interested in. Wanting comfort that morning, I found a box of Chamomile, one of my favorites. As I watched the kettle begin to steam on the burner, I wondered if I at some point was going to scream myself about my own situation. How could it be? I was in my early thirties and I would soon be divorced for the first time.

               

  Since her apartment was close to shopping and restaurants, I decided I would walk to a place close by to have breakfast. But first, I was in need of a hot shower. I could feel the booze start to roll out of my pores that morning as I stood there in the shower for what seemed like a solid hour. With each beating water droplet, I hoped that I could feel somewhat of a cleansing about my situation, which never came. I was going to have to endure the pain of the harsh reality that I had set in motion.

                

After dressing in my trademark black and white, I walked for a bit until I found a restaurant. There was a little place called Toast on Market. It was quaint and simple. There was seating for maybe eighteen people at the most. Keeping with the morning theme, I ordered another Chamomile tea and Eggs Benedict. I was going to start the day off in a proper fashion. I watched as the people came in and out, and tried not to think about divorce. Instead, I tried to let my thoughts wonder toward what Rona and I would do with our evenings.

                

After breakfast, a short walk seemed appropriate. There was a nice park nearby where people were enjoying their morning run and walking their dogs. I found myself a seat on a park bench. That morning, I began to pray:

Lord,

I haven’t spoken to you about the situation that I am going through to this point. So here I am. I am thirty-one, and I have set in motion the proceedings toward getting a divorce. This is not something I thought I would ever do, so I will need your help. I’m not even sure if I am justified in your eyes for what I am about to do, but I don’t feel as though Graham and I were meant for each other. And if we were, he has made a game-changing move that cannot allow me to be in his life any longer. I hope and pray that you understand the awkward position that he has put me in. I pray that you will bless me in this time of struggle and strife, and carry me to new places far beyond my imagination.

Stephanie

We visited all the restaurants at least once. With many to choose from, it was hard to decide each evening which one to go to. Since we would be there for ten days and there were nine restaurants, it made it a little easier. We would have the opportunity to go to all of them. Each night, I took advantage of something local on my plate, whether it was the local fish, a vegetable, or something more exotic. As with wine, I believe the beauty in a place such as this shines in the local fare. Much is to be said of the historical gastronomy of any place on earth. From this point on, I would make it so with wherever I traveled. Eat local, shop local, patronize local. I do it at home, so why not anywhere in the world?

                Nine excellent dinners, too much time in the sand and sun and after too many trips to the poolside bar, it was time to return home. On the plane, I found myself thinking about Raul. I should have asked more questions. As I remembered the events of the week, I thought to myself that I should have engaged Raul in more conversation. He was nice enough to tell me about the “local” spots that most travelers would be unaware of; so why hadn’t I asked him about himself? Perhaps I wanted to be served and was in fact a bit closed-minded in my own dialogue. Maybe I didn’t want for him to know me. At any rate, I would make it a point to be less selfish and more sincere with strangers in the future.

                Upon returning home, it was back to business as usual. We had arrived home late on a Tuesday evening with work staring us right in the face early Wednesday morning. My mother called me at the office Wednesday morning to chat for a bit. It was not normal for my mother to call me at work, but I jumped at the chance to take my mind off of my already busy schedule. She wanted more details about the honeymoon and what the plans were for the weekend. As usual, I had planned to visit on Saturday to do my laundry. Also, this would be the weekend that Graham would move into the apartment.

                On Saturday, he arrived around six A.M. with a cup of coffee and a cup of tea. We had hoped to get his stuff in the apartment by noon and then I would go out to see mom and Dad. As we unloaded his car, I felt a true sense of "connectedness", followed by a feeling of being scared. How would I be as a wife? Insecurities seemed to punch me in the eye and the back of the head. After just thirty minutes of unpacking, I felt like I had gone twelve rounds with Mohammed Ali. How I could feel so secure on the day of our wedding and at the same time so insecure ten days later was beyond comprehension. All I knew at that moment was that someone new was invading my space.

The night before, I had composed a short letter.

Graham,

I am truly excited about this adventure that we are embarking on in our new life together. Like most women, I have thought about my wedding day since I was a little girl. I believe that you have breathed new life into me at a time when I was fragile. To that end, I believe I still am. All I ask is that you walk beside me. Not in front, and not behind.

Tomorrow we will be making a home. And while I have a picture in my mind for what that might look like, I ask you to be patient with me. I know you are going to leave the seat up and forget to hang your towel perfectly as I would. I forgive you already.

Do me the favor of always putting your best foot forward. I feel as though you will provide for me and take care of me in my time of need, but sometimes all I will need is your presence. I will need your words of encouragement after a rough day at the office. I will need you to let me be alone when I need time to myself or by myself with my parents. I welcome you with open arms as my companion for life.

Stephanie

                

Moving day went better than planned. After we had moved in what was mostly clothes, a bicycle, an old baseball glove and some books; we were organizing our own little “love nest”, as I liked to call it. Around noon, I left for my parents after the final gesture of giving him a key. It was “our” place.

                

On Tuesday of the following week, I walked out to the mailbox and found a surprise in the mailbox. It was a letter from Rona.

Stephanie,

I heard through the grapevine that you got married. I wanted to extend my well wishes to you and Graham and apologize for that night some time ago. In the glow of the homecoming atmosphere and perhaps one too many libations, I feel as though it is in some way my fault that you left Vanderbilt. For that, I express deep regret.

On the other hand, again I wish you and Graham well. I know in my heart that the both of you are doing what you can to be successful in your chosen careers and in your marriage. I hope and pray that you both are blessed.

On a final note, I wanted to let you know that I was accepted to medical school. After countless hours filling out applications, preparing for interviews, and visiting prospective schools, I have been accepted and have agreed to admission at the University of Tennessee. From Nashville to Knoxville. I will start in the fall.

Best,

Rona

I sat down for a while on my porch and reread the letter several times. Part of me wanted to disregard that I had ever received it, but the person inside of me said I should at least acknowledge its acceptance. I had thought on several occasions even prior to leaving Vanderbilt that I should forgive her. Yes, in some way, she was the principle reason that I left Vanderbilt. I reasoned with myself that I was doing well and the best thing to do was to congratulate her for doing well. Not everyone makes it into medical school.

On Friday I got up the nerve to call. She was still taking time to work for a local doctor beginning to hone her skills for what would be a long four years at the University of Tennessee. After I got off the phone, I realized that her moment of drunken candor was just that. She was now dating and enjoying some much needed time off for the next nine or ten months. I decided, though not telling her on that day, that I would visit her in Knoxville the following fall.

                It was not long before the holiday season came upon us. It was beginning to get cold in Roanoke and I was beginning to miss the smell of sheets that have flapped in the fresh air to dry. Graham and I had started where we left off the summer before. We were walking nearly every night for exercise and were either hiking or biking on the weekends. I was enjoying cooking for him each evening and making trips to the wine aisle of the grocery store. In my mind, I was doing my best to be the perfect wife. I believed that I was doing a good job of it also, I must say. I usually had dinner on the table sharply at six o’clock despite working a full day. Graham was good about helping with the dishes after dinner. Usually after dinner, I would make myself a cup of tea or indulge in a second or sometimes third glass of wine. Have I mentioned the wine? I was becoming quite the connoisseur.

                Graham also was developing a fine palate; although, he was not much of a drinker and even preferred craft beer at times. In the fall it was time to get him indoctrinated into some of the family traditions. At home by myself usually, one of my favorite things was watching the Charlie Brown holiday series. Staring with, “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”, and ending with “A Charlie Brown Christmas”, I had hoped that he would not immediately make me out to be a seven year-old in a twenty-five year-old body. At any rate, I was planning to watch them with or without him.

                I was never much of a decorator – at least not from season to season - but I decided we should at least carve our own pumpkin for the porch that year. Neither of us had much of a creative gene, so our pumpkin looked exactly like it had been carved by an amateur. And we were. Halloween came and went and it was only a few weeks till Black Friday…one of my favorite times of the year. Since I was now working, I could do more damage.

                Mom and I talked for several weeks about where to go. We decided this year that we would fly to Los Angeles. I had never been to California, much less Rodeo Drive, and was eager to spend some quality time in stores I could not even afford. Just going to such a place would make me feel like a star. I made plans before I left on how much I would spend. I normally am not one to give myself a budget when I am in the mood to shop, but in a place like that, those little plastic cards that we carry in our wallets can be a foe rather than a friend.

                Two weeks prior to Thanksgiving, we booked our tickets and it was then that I became truly ecstatic. I was going to Hollywood! Graham was not overly excited about this, as he had managed to help me keep a lid on my spending since the honeymoon. I was earning a decent living working at the family business and Graham was doing well. In the back of my mind, I had a number that I felt was the monetary threshold for which Graham would absolutely pitch a fit. That became my limit.

                On Thanksgiving Day, we arrived early enough so that I could watch the Macy’s Day Parade with my mother prior to beginning the cooking. The turkey was already in the oven, so it was mainly the other side dishes that would have to be made. We sat down for Thanksgiving dinner in the late afternoon. As was the custom, we started by going around the table to express a few words of gratitude and thanks for the blessings of the preceding months. My brother was first and was thankful for the countless hours that he had flown without incident. Mother was thankful for all that she had, a son who was doing well, a newly married daughter and son-in-law, and the blessings that my father had provided her. Dad was predictable, but honest in his description of how another successful year in business had kept us in the comforts that we had grown accustomed to. I was thankful for my marriage and the beauty of my new relationship. Graham, however, could think of nothing. Odd it seemed, but glaringly true at the moment.

                So as not to rattle any cage, my father continued with the blessing. It was short, but sweet. During dinner, my mother asked the most questions and we answered appropriately. Dinner seemed somewhat bland as the conversation ensued. I wondered why Graham had not been forthcoming. Certainly there was something that he was thankful for. After dinner, I pulled him aside to ask what was on his mind. The typical response of the stress surrounding the family business was his answer. When I pushed him further, he came clean with the fact that his father was recently diagnosed with cancer. In his anger, he could not see the forest for the trees. After dessert I suggested that we take a walk out on the farm even though the chill of the fall air could be felt. It was pancreatic cancer, and his father was given less than nine months to live.

                He had held on to this information so as not to shake our new relationship, but I felt a sense of being left in the dark. If I had known this, perhaps we would have been eating with his family instead of mine. We had chosen to eat at only my place this first Thanksgiving, as Graham thought it to be most appropriate due to his new place within the family. As we walked across the grass that was beginning to form dew in the cold and blustery evening, I wondered about the toll that our relationship might take in lockstep with the wind. Would we be experiencing a long and cold winter of emotions? I shuddered at the fact.

                Not wanting to leave, I reluctantly boarded the plane with my mother bound for Los Angeles. I wanted to enjoy this trip and wondered if it would be possible. I had high expectations for our shopping excursion this year. After a few hours, we stopped at Chicago-Midway en route to Los Angeles International. Our layover was short and I decided to call Graham and see how he was doing. I could hear the fear in his voice as we tried not to approach the subject of what I had just learned. He did well at trying to get me to focus on having a good trip with my mother. I ensured him that I would, if only I could.

                We landed in California the early the following morning. Upon picking up our baggage and our rental car, we headed to the hotel. We had booked a room for our stay at the Mosaic Hotel. Located just a few minutes to Rodeo Drive, we would soon embark on our holiday tradition. The “shop girl” that I am, I could not wait to stroll down three blocks of the most luxurious shopping in the world.

                

Lauren, Prada, Louis Vuitton, Armani, Coach, Jimmy Choo; oh, I was in heaven. Despite my feelings of abandonment, I could not disguise my utter amazement of the glitz and glam of the occasion. The feelings of being on the red carpet abound in every shopper who graces the streets. They know their place, they know they can afford what they want, and I was among them.

By noon I had purchased three pairs of shoes, a Coach handbag, a scarf from Brooks Brothers for Graham and also a suit from Canali. He was absolutely going to have something to be happy about upon my return if I had anything to do with it. I couldn’t decide on diamond studs for myself between Harry Winston and Tiffany & Co. In the end, it was Harry who would take my American Express. I had managed to spend over six thousand dollars in a matter of hours and it was not yet noon.

                I had already exceeded my budget as we sat down to lunch. And there were two blocks of shopping that we had yet to explore. I decided that I needed to pull in the reins on the next two blocks. But there was Lacoste, and Manolo Blahnik, Versace, Burberry, and Dolce & Gabbana. What was I to do? We continued to shop and I ended up with three more pair of shoes, a scarf for myself from Burberry, sunglasses by Prada, and some ties for Graham courtesy of Tom Ford. By dinner, my American Express was even feeling taxed.

                We decided to have dinner at McCormick & Schmick's Fish House. Mom had done much better than I only splurging on a few ties for Dad and a pair of shoes. We had taken our bags back to the hotel prior to dinner. I was in the mood for steak and fish, so I went with a surf and turf option. Mom chose a salad even though I had asked her to get whatever she wanted. I had insisted that I was paying, for which she replied that I had better rethink that gesture after my day on Rodeo Drive. I was already at double my proposed budget of five thousand dollars. Not wanting for anything more at the moment, I starred deeply into my glass of wine. It was a Cabernet which had a hue similar to that of blood and I thought about Graham’s father and just how fragile life is.

               

  I went to bed with a heavy heart

.

                The next day of shopping was a blur. I may as well have smoked marijuana or taken LSD that morning because everything was a blur. The sounds from the streetcars, the flashing of the stoplights, even the crosswalks put me into a gloomy haze. It was surreal at best. And all the while, there was a clear thought that my new husband’s father was going to die. It was eminent.

                After boarding the plane, I was like a block of ice looking outside the window. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t cry. What was I going to say when I returned home to Graham? Surely the suit, ties, and scarf would be no consolation. 

Not even my enduring love could take away the pain. 

As we entered and exited the clouds, I began to pray:

God, this is Stephanie. Graham and I are about to go through what will undoubtedly be one of the hardest times of our lives together. I can only imagine what he is going through, for if it was my father I would be devastated. Please help us in our time of need. Only you have the power to give Graham and his father the best of the remaining days that you will allow him to have on this earth. I ask you to give him comfort in his time of need and give Graham the strength to endure the pain by his side.

Amen

                While this was a short prayer, it seemed as if it lasted the entire way to Chicago-Midway. We had a short layover and then boarded the plane for Roanoke.  Upon landing in the Star city, Graham was there to pick us up. He looked as though he had been battling with a lion the entire time that I was gone. I gave him all I had, which were my arms around his neck and a kiss. No words would come at that time.

               

                

Not necessarily expected, my mother and father were excited about the news when I told them that evening. Instead of returning to my apartment after work, I decided to join Mom and Dad for sinner at home that evening. It was April, and there was just enough time to make all the arrangements if we were quick about securing the location for the wedding and reception. Mom was happy to be involved in the process and the following Monday she began making phone calls. In a stroke of luck, there had been a cancellation for that weekend at one of the most historic homes in Charleston. The Legare Waring House is where we would exchange our vows.

                There is something majestic about this place. The moss-draped oak trees are larger than life itself and provide for what seems like a covered pathway to grace leading up to the home. The home was built in the 1840s and today maintains that traditional elegance along with an uncluttered essence of beauty. It would be perfect for an occasion that is supposed to stand the test of time. The cost was something that I was not prepared for, but my father had promised that his only daughter would be given away in proper fashion. That did not necessarily mean that we were going to be frivolous with the money designated for my wedding, but he had saved for many years for such an occasion. We booked the house and we would be married near the gardens overlooking the lagoon.

                Graham and I wanted the list of attendees to feel like distinguished guests. I had only one brother and he was an only child. In that light, it became easy to keep the wedding party small. However, keeping the rest of the list small would be a challenge. We agreed on one hundred guests. After arriving at an agreeable number, we then moved on to the other essentials such as picking a cake, a first song and our wedding party number. We agreed on four. I debated for some time about whether to invite Rona. She had been a prominent figure in my life for nearly three years. We had shared some fabulous times and even some fabulous secrets. But the kiss was a sticking point. What could go wrong at the wedding if she drank too much champagne? I decided to forgo the offer to attend.

                With most of the arrangements made, it was time to pick a dress. I was also having some trouble picking a brides maid, but I knew that with a few days of solid thought, a decision could be made. As my mother and I continued to make command decisions, each one left me closer toward the goal of marrying the man of my dreams.

                Graham was a wonderful person through the whole process. He made sure that everything was perfect from my perspective. While this is an all-important day for a man as well, he understood that me as his bride was the one who demanded perfection. Everything needed to proceed without a hitch. I would call him and talk with him as decisions were made and ask for his approval. In everything, he stated that he wanted that which I desired to make this day perfect for me. Perhaps he was even too agreeable, but I loved hearing his words of agreement.

                By the end of July all the details were ironed out. I could now relax for a bit and enjoy the rest of the summer. Graham and I still had our typical date on Friday or Saturday evening, and he would come over to my new place on Sunday and watch football. If we didn’t feel like going out over the weekend, I would typically cook him dinner. We had started walking a few miles each evening and would go hiking or biking over the weekend. It seemed as if everything was falling into place. We had developed what I would call healthy routines which pleased me.

                I was anxious by the end of July to get married. August would undoubtedly seem like a long month, and there were three weeks in September also prior to the big day. On evenings after our walks, I would typically spend some time reading on the porch as the weather permitted. Even when the summer rains came, I was under a covered porch which didn’t bother me. Candlelight and a glass of wine was almost a sure bet to accompany me and my book on those evenings. I dreamed about walking through the moss-draped oak tress leading to a small crowd in chairs seeing me glow as I walked closer and closer to my suitor.

                We decided on saying the traditional vows. We talked about writing our own, but there is something about tradition with respect to this part of the ceremony which I intended to honor. My mind wandered as I thought about the speeches that would be given and the reception that would ensue. I had plenty of time to think and dream as the wedding was seven weeks away.

                In August, Graham seemed a bit more distant. He was not visiting as often and I thought that perhaps he was just swamped with work as many of his clients had filed extensions. He managed to make it less and less for our evening walk, citing excuses, and we were not spending as much time on the weekends. Initially, I chalked up the behavior to a stressful workload. By the end of August, I became concerned. Had he changed his mind? Was he getting cold feet? One evening as he was returning home from work he asked me to meet him in the parking lot of a restaurant prior to an evening client meeting. I thought nothing of it immediately, but his face said it all when I arrived and opened the door to the passenger seat. He stated rather abruptly that he was not sure he was ready for marriage. As the tears flowed down my face, and I could not even speak. I exited the car and left.

                The following day he didn’t call as he normally had sometime during the workday. I knew this was bad news. How would I tell my father? Was he absolutely decided in his position? How could I change the events of last evening and keep this train from derailing? A million questions entered my mind without answers.

                Two days later he called. I had been doing plenty of thinking on my own as I was positive I was getting married on September 24. I was not about to let the decisions of my recent past go up in smoke over a young man with cold feet. I suggested he come over to dinner that evening and we could talk.

                As we sat together over the dinner I had prepared, it was eerily quiet at first. After he had nearly finished his dinner, he began to explain his concerns. What had felt so right a few months ago now seemed to have waned into reluctance. He attempted to sound practical. Were we financially sound? Where would we live? Did I want children right away, and how would we care for them?

                I admitted that all were valid concerns and had answers for each one of them.  We were each employed in the family business. Check. While I intended to keep my apartment, I suggested that we live there until we could find a suitable home. Check. I had NO intentions of having children right away as I wanted Graham to fully inherit his father’s practice when he retired in five to seven years so that I could be a stay-at-home mother. Check. Despite my answers to these valid, yet untimely concerns, I could still smell a bit of hesitation. What else was there? I pleaded him to bring to the forefront any other issues. As I scooped out a bit of ice cream and a piece of peach pie, I awaited his answer to the final proving question. He answered in the affirmative that he was just scared. We agreed to proceed as planned. Check mate.

                Southerners are known for being rugged and tough, and in that moment, I believed I had fought one of the toughest battles in my young life. The wedding was now three weeks away. The crisp air of fall was creeping in as we had resumed our walks each evening. It felt like we had turned a corner and that all would be well. Graham’s workload was fading somewhat, and business as usual was happening at my father’s engineering firm. I began spending more time with Mom and dad on the weekends as I knew I would be seeing less of them once I officially became a “wife”.

                The next three weeks were practically a blur. It was now Friday night and we were seated at a restaurant in Charleston. Earlier in the day the women went shopping and spelunking in downtown Charleston. The guys opted to play golf. We chose McCrady’s primarily for the history and the atmosphere. This restaurant has been a staple in downtown Charleston for nearly a century. I had chosen three main courses for our guests. Lamb, Beef Ribeye and Wreckfish. We had chosen The Chef’s Table Room for our private event. Here, we would have the ultimate level of service in a private setting with dinner served and hosted by the chef himself and his staff.

                Everyone in attendance seemed to enjoy dinner. It was a small gathering consisting of my mother and father, Graham’s parents, my brother and the wedding party; which consisted of the best man, Paul, and two other roommates from Vanderbilt, and on my side was my best friend from home Tasha, and two girlfriends Susan and Mallory. Not too long into dinner, Tasha proposed a toast. She wished us well and spoke about how she believed we were a match made in heaven. As I looked at Graham, I could see him smiling and with a glimpse in his eye of love that I had not seen in the past few weeks. As I looked at mine and his parents, I could see them gleaming as well.

               

                Dinner was served in five courses and I can say with certainty that we enjoyed some of the finest food in the South. The chef had previously been awarded the James Beard Award. The wine was flowing and laughing and crying at times was common. After three hours of dining, it was time to retire to our respective quarters for the evening and prepare for the day ahead.

                The following morning, I woke early to the sound of birds singing. As I drew back the drapes from my window, the sun was already peeking over the horizon much to my surprise. It was a sign to me that we would have a beautiful day. We had stayed at the John Rutledge House. The Inn was built in 1763 by John Rutledge, one of the signers of the constitution. Today, this bed and breakfast hosts residents in the main house and also a number of carriage houses from the property. My mother and I stayed in the main house and my ladies of honor stayed in the carriage houses.

                I was the first to come down to the breakfast area that morning and made myself a cup of tea. It was not long before my mother joined me. She had decided to give me some advice that morning about what she felt was some key cornerstones of a lasting marriage. Her thoughts were simple, but resonating. Keep your God first in your life and he will guide you. Keep your husband’s stomach full with home cooking. Praise him whenever you see an opportunity to do so. Allow him to make the final decision concerning the finances and the discipline of your children. Never go to bed angry.

                All of this I had taken to heart in a few short moments. Sage advice from your mother is not something that all daughters have. I could trust in my mother as I had seen her live by those exact principles. And I wanted a home and a loving relationship that resembled that of my parents. They were successful at marriage and still very much in love.

                When Tasha, Susan and Mallory arrived, we ordered breakfast. I had my favorite, eggs benedict. We were all well rested and excited for the day. While the gifts would be received much later, the girls had gone together and presented a small token of their appreciation for being a small part of this all-important day for me. They all knew collectively that I was a fan of Coach Purses. They thought it appropriate for me to have a special handbag to carry on my honeymoon. I was thrilled at their gesture and could not keep myself for thanking them. Tasha had been a friend since grade school and Susan and Mallory were high school classmates. That morning, I had a few moments where I drifted off wondering about Rona. Had I been too hard on her and her actions last fall? As the thoughts drifted in and out of my head momentarily, I decided to let them rest and focus on the rest of my day.

                After breakfast, it was time to get dressed. The wedding was not until 3:30 PM, but I was decidedly anxious to wear my dress. First, I would need to go get my nails and hair done. We walked to a local parlor in downtown and were greeted with champagne as a starter before our primping. We giggled and told stories as the purveyors of the salon did their best to make us show-ready. Tasha, Susan and Mallory were all in serious relationships so they too shared in the excitement with their stories about the setting, plans and honeymoon spots for their upcoming nuptials. Tasha was the only one who was engaged, so she could completely understand the importance of this day for me. There is something about a wedding that makes women giddy with angst and pure astonishment.

                With my nails and hair finished, it was time for a light snack prior to donning my dress. I had chosen a Vera Wang for the occasion. It was an “A Frame” that had a gentle flow from top to bottom so as not to embellish my figure too wide. I loved the style, but intended to keep the dress from flowing outward too much. I wore ballerina slippers and the veil was just past shoulder length. It was an Ivory Strapless Beaded Silk Wedding Dress that I had purchased in New York City. My mother and I had taken a shopping trip there the month before, and despite Graham’s moment of hesitation, I was going to wear it. The bridesmaids were also accommodated with an “A Frame” Silk Dress in robin egg blue. The men would wear robin egg blue ties and Graham had not revealed the color of his.

                I had feelings of excitement and anxiousness as I dressed. It seemed like we were all scurrying around at the last minute, but really we had time on our hands to spare. I believe it was the intensity of this day that made time feel as if it was getting away from me. My mother helped with some last minute preparations and then it was down the aisle I would soon go.

                The pathway to my guests and my future husband was all that I had envisioned and more for so many years. It was storybook worthy. As I walked under the oak trees hand- in- hand with my father I could feel all eyes on me. It was truly my special day. “Canon in D” was played by some string musicians as we came toward the crowd awaiting us. As we neared those seated, we stopped for a second at the back row. My father expressed his love for me in words like I had never heard before. And thought he would be giving me away on this very day, he promised to never be far from my side.

                After a brief pause, the crowd rose to their feet and we walked slowly. As I walked past silver pales filled with water and daises, Graham was all smiles as he could now see me clearly. I must say, I was befitting to have any man I would choose in the entire world standing before me at that moment, but it was Graham I was walking toward to become a bride. We paused one final time, my father kissed me on the forehead outside of my veil and wished me the best for all the years ahead of us.

                The service was short but sweet. In about twenty minutes, we were saying our vows. It was an intense and rather calming moment. There was no stress in my voice as I said my vows; only tears. As Graham professed his, I heard a slight trembling in his voice as he was holding back tears. As we leaned in for the kiss after being pronounced man and wife, there was a thundering of clapping that was heard from behind. The bridesmaids were sobbing and the men were hugging each other. It was a joyous occasion that afternoon for all.

                After spending some time greeting all of our guests, we sat down to dinner under a tent the large courtyard. There was soft music played by a quartet of strings and everyone laughed and cried while conversing with one another. The weather was absolutely perfect; not a cloud in sight. After all plates hit the table, it was time for Tasha to make her toast. She recounted several times during middle school and high school about how awkward I had been with the boys in school. The truth was, I had not an interest in any of them. She finished with a few sentences about how my life had changed when I met Graham. While she was not at Vanderbilt like Rona had been to see the twinkle in my eye or the quickness in my step after a conversation with him, she was privy to all the details by phone. She could hear the excitement and the love from afar in my voice, and she knew it was something special.

                After Tasha, Paul had a few words of his own and a few funny stories to share about Graham. He, too, had seen a change in his best friend. Despite his cold feet near the end – which was not shared- Paul knew that Graham had made an excellent choice in a wife. As dinner ensued, Graham and I didn’t say much to each other as I believe we were both a little stunned at the overall emotional toll of the day. Not in a negative way, but decidedly positive. We were each happy to have some finality to the event and were encouraged by the commencement of our relationship as husband and wife.

                After we cut the cake, hand-in-hand, it was off for a few pictures before our first dance and the rest of the reception. But first, I had to clean off my face as Graham was ornery in the moment of feeding me my first bite. I just knew the pictures would be marvelous. We decided to have some taken earlier and just a few after the cutting of the cake. The photographer was further responsible for obtaining some tasteful snapshots at my request for nearly everyone in attendance. I wanted everyone there to remember and feel as if they were in some small way apart of this monumental day.

                Graham was always fond of the song “Lady in Red”; in fact, it was his favorite of all time. And while I thought there were better songs for our first dance, I agreed to allow him to have this played for our dance. Afterward, I danced with my father. He couldn’t have been more proper and more proud of me on this day. I was taking a new leap of faith and growing up “way too fast” as he stated. However, he was calm and approving. It would have been easy for some fathers to advise with a heavier hand. He could have brought up the fact that I had left college. My father is not this way. He loved me unconditionally, and that was what I was looking for in Graham. I wanted to find real love that would stand the test of time.

                It did not seem long after the dancing began that we were saying our goodbyes. We had a plane to catch to a destination that I was unaware of. I had put Graham in charge of picking a place for the honeymoon. I wanted to be surprised. I only stated that I wanted to be in the sun and be able to wear a bathing suit at some point. The rest of the details were for him to address. Our convertible was tastefully decorated; however, there was no question that we had just been married. A few minutes’ drive to Charleston International Airport led me to believe that we had needed the passport that I had packed. We were in fact embarking on an international trip, which was the first clue that Graham gave me.

                It was a long wait after check-in until we were called to board the plane. He covered my ears during the announcement as I was not yet supposed to know our destination. Walking down the long corridor to our flight, I began to wonder where we might be landing early in the morning. As the stewardess prepared to give her obligatory speech, I listened intently. We were going to Aruba. Upon hearing this, I screamed with excitement and punched him square in the bicep. It was a loving gesture, as to say that he had knocked the ball out of the park and hit a home run with his part of the planning. In the morning, I would be in the sun.

               

               

                It was still very early in the morning before the sun had come up when we landed. I had managed to catch a few winks on the plane, never remaining in a deep sleep. While I was excited and wanted to stay up during the flight, I was at the same time tired from the long day associated with becoming a bride. The plane had landed with a forceful thud about the time I was waking up from a small nap. I immediately opened my eyes wide and prepared to embark on our ten day honeymoon. As we picked up our luggage from baggage claim, I was thinking about the rest of the events from the night before. I had hoped that our guests enjoyed themselves. I wondered who the last to leave from the reception was, and how the pictures would turn out. One thing was for sure; my father had spared no expense.

                After a short and wild cab ride, we arrived at the Tamarijn, Aruba. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon and I could feel a slight breeze at my back. We flopped the suitcases on the bed and I encouraged Graham to put on his bathing suit. That was the first thing I grabbed from the suitcase as well and ran into the bathroom to put it on. I had purchased a new black strapless bikini for the occasion. As I opened the door to our patio, I rushed toward the ocean as if I had just learned to run for the first time. Within a minute or two, I was standing at the ocean allowing the crest of the waves to caress my toes gently. Graham was not far behind and as he ran toward me he swept me off my feet and carried me a few paces into the ocean and dunked us both in the water. As we emerged from the ocean, he had an ornery look about him. He smiled and we knew in just that moment as we gazed in each other’s eyes that we had done it. We were married. We were husband and wife.

                Neither of us had brought a towel and the cool air of the morning caused us to shiver just a bit. I ran back into the room and found a towel for us to wrap up in. As we laid there on the beach, we talked a little, but mostly just stared in each other’s eyes…kissing each other from time to time. After a half hour or so lying on the beach using a towel as a blanket, we decided to go back to the room and order room service. By now, you can surmise that I had tea and eggs benedict, my favorite. Graham had waffles and eggs and we opted for them to have some island fruit sent along as well.

                After breakfast we showered to remove the sand from our slightly chilled bodies. We showered together that morning and I loved the touch of Graham’s hands running through my hair as he washed it gently. After our shower we laid into bed and we made love for the first time. Graham had graciously honored my request that we wait until we were married to enjoy the feeling of our union; that it would be wholesome and pure.

                After another shower, we decided to spend the entire day at the beach. I was going to take in as much sun as possible and attempt to wear each bathing suit that I had purchased. I had only bought eleven for the trip. That afternoon he had booked beach side massages. As we lay next to one another on tables, I only open my eyes occasionally to look at him. I can tell that he has been watching me the whole time during his massage. A few more hours in the sun and it would be time for dinner.

                We had purchased a package that allowed for us to have a discount at participating restaurants on the island. An all-inclusive package included dining at nine different restaurants, seven lounges, non-motorized water sports options, nightly entertainment and much more. I could not have been more thrilled with his choice. The fact that he had picked a spot in the Caribbean with luxury accommodations and plenty more to explore left me with a satisfied palate. The first evening, I had wanted something fresh from the ocean for dinner. The Palms Grill offered oceanfront dining and would allow me the option of having local seafood. I chose the Palm Salad which offered garden greens with hearts of palm, pine nuts, mandarin orange, chicken and croutons, sprinkled with a peanut-ginger dressing. I then followed this with Swordfish and Beef which was accompanied with a fresh vegetable medley for stir-frying and French fries. In a way, I had both island and American cuisines. Graham had Beef and Shrimp and opted for the same salad and sides.

                At the end of dinner, we remained at our table for quite some time sipping at our glasses of red wine. He had chosen a Merlot, perhaps my favorite; and we were now working on a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, a close second. I have since then believed and have carried it with me that a glass of wine is quite unlike any other drink in the world. It has life. From the minute the vines were planted to the end result in the glass, there is something supernatural about the process and product. Wine evolves.

                The following morning, I woke early as usual and Graham was still in a stupor of alcohol and dreams. Letting him sleep, I decided to go to breakfast alone. Raul graciously brought my Bloody Mary with a smile and asked me if I was enjoying Aruba. I recanted the events of my first day on the island and followed that rendition up with the events that I had planned for the rest of the week. I would see Raul each morning for the rest of my time in Aruba…alone. Graham was obviously taking advantage of the ability to sleep in. I, on the other hand, was not about to waste a waking moment in a place such as this.

               

Morning seems to come too quickly. I load my laundry into the car, kiss Mom and Dad goodbye and begin my journey back to school. I arrive in the early afternoon and tidy up a bit prior to Rona’s arrival. After all, she has a longer drive from Savannah and will probably have just enough time to put away her clothes and crawl into bed. She arrives in the early evening and we exchange stories about our family traditions and our shopping excursions.

                The rest of the fall semester seemed to fly by. With only a few exams and then finals to take, I buckled down and really placed a focus on finishing strong. With Rona’s help, I was able to make “B’s” in Biology and Chemistry and was able to earn “A’s” in English and Math. We decided to return to our own homes for Christmas break and vowed to plan a trip for spring break together.

                Mom and Dad were pleased with the idea of a family portrait and my brother absolutely loved his watch. I decided to send Rona’s gift in the mail so she would have a package to open. She called the following day to say how excited she was to get back to practicing yoga in her new attire. I agreed to go with her to a few classes upon our return to Vanderbilt in January.

                With the Christmas holiday being quite longer, there was more time to spend in reflection for choosing a major. It was suggested that we choose a direction for our studies at the beginning of our sophomore year. I decided to declare early in the spring semester and would choose accounting. Dad was thrilled and offered to help me gain some experience by doing the books for the family business during my summer breaks. The decision seemed to help me gain a concrete vision for my time spent in college. Since that decision was made, I was able to enjoy my Christmas break with less stress.

                My father always felt that it was important to reward your employees. Between Christmas and New Year’s, he scheduled a gathering each year for the company’s employees and their families. A nice dinner was served followed by company bonuses, a small gift for each household for the children, and a gift card to eat at a local restaurant was given to each employee. Being a small business owner, my father chose a different small restaurant each year for the gift cards. I always enjoyed this gathering as you get to know the people and their families. They are not just employees, but the people around my father in the trenches each day who make him successful. To them he is eternally grateful.

                The New Year’s holiday came quickly and I decided to spend it with some friends from high school. This year, we went to the top of Mill Mountain where the Roanoke star is located. It stands nearly one hundred feet tall and is illuminated in red, white and blue. Roanoke has been appropriately named the “Star City of the South.” It was a cold January eve, but we decided nonetheless to brave the weather until midnight. I thought to myself many times about how I could be at home, sipping on hot chocolate next to Mom as we watched the ball drop in New York City. As a young college student, you tend to do many things that perhaps you would rather have opted out of looking back.

                With only twelve days left on my Christmas break, I made sure to spend plenty of time with my parents. Certainly they missed me too while I was away in Nashville. While subtle, I could see a change happening in me as I braved the new world of independence. Enjoying home cooked food was at the top of my list for the remainder of my time at home. Mom and I spent what seemed to be an exorbitant amount of time in the kitchen. I have always enjoyed cooking and learned it well from my mother. She always placed a high importance on feeding my father and keeping him healthy. It was never uncommon to have a few courses served at dinner and occasionally dessert. I believe wholeheartedly that cooking with fresh ingredients and cooking for yourself will increase the likelihood of longevity. Fruits, vegetables and fresh ingredients; preferably from a local grocer.

                Returning to Vanderbilt after a relaxing Christmas break seemed hard. I had spent many nights sitting in the living room by the fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate, something I would surely miss, now being confined again to a small dormitory room. My classes were much the same. Rona was happy to be taking Biology and Chemistry as these would be the hallmark of her classes going forward. I was less enthused. I did feel at peace with my decision to major in accounting as this took some of the guesswork out of my coursework going forward.

                It was not long before spring break came. Rona and I had planned a trip along with two upperclassmen to go to Aspen, Colorado, to ski. While I am not a fan of the cold, I do enjoy the outdoors and agreed to go, knowing I could bundle up and hopefully enjoy the slopes. In March, the average snowfall is Aspen is roughly thirty inches, give or take. The months preceding are what usually make for a nice base of snow for the slopes. I am not much of a skier, but I agreed to get out on the slopes for one or two days during the seven day vacation. Ideally, I will spend more of my time pampering myself in the spas, hot tubs and our cozy hotel room.

                We stayed at Hotel Jerome. The hotel provides the exact amount of amenities I am looking for, a stylish restaurant, and upscale bar and the spa. I felt a bit jet-lagged from the flight so I decided to sleep in the first morning. Rona was eager to hit the slopes and was out the door by 7:30 A.M. I stayed in bed until 9:00 A.M. and bundled up for a morning walk down Main Street. It was not long before I found myself sipping on a latte in the Main Street Bakery & Café.  After finishing my latte, I order a regular coffee and eggs benedict. I am surprised by the café’s ability to make such a delicate breakfast item extraordinary. I surmise that it is a tourist town such as Aspen that warrants a proper chef even in a small café.

                I roam the streets for a while and find myself in Harmony Scott Jewelry Design shop. I am dazzled by the handmade and exquisite jewelry on display. While I love diamonds, I have always been a fan of watches, necklaces and bracelets as well. I spend what seems like hours looking around and decide it is time for lunch. I returned to the dining hall in Hotel Jerome. The Open Faced Spicy Tuna “Melt” seems appealing, so I order and wait impatiently for its arrival. Twenty-four dollars seems a bit pricey for an afternoon lunch, but it pales in comparison to what I am about to spend at the spa. A full body treatment runs three hundred dollars, but I’m worth it!

                Rona returned about 5:00 P.M. after a long day on the slopes. The four of us went to dinner at Finbarr’s Irish Pub.  I had heard from a local that the salmon was the item to order, so I was easily persuaded. Rona seemed more interested in the Guinness on tap. She was sore and I was feeling more like a rejuvenated jellyfish. We elected to sit at a table for dinner and then attempt to make our way to the bar for the remainder of the evening.  The décor is what I would call “rustic-chic”. There are chandeliers for lighting, brick and wood on the exterior walls, but the bar area seems more modern with teardrop lighting illuminating the green apple colored chairs. Chatting with the locals until 11:00 P.M., we decide to get into bed before turning into midnight snowflakes.

I decided to write a short postcard before bed.

Mom,

Our first day in Aspen has been a glorious one. Surrounded by the snow-capped mountains, one seems small in comparison. There must be something to the Rocky Mountains, as I am enthralled by the beauty of this place. In April they have a Food & Wine festival which I have vowed to return for someday, perhaps with someone special. As usual, I am missing home as the fireplace in the hotel lobby where I can sip on a hot chocolate in the evening is not near the same as being at home.

Stephanie

                The rest of the week was as relaxing as the first day. I managed to leave Aspen with not too many bumps and bruises. The slopes were plush and not as easy to conquer as one might imagine. I did manage to traverse the elementary offerings without much trouble. Our flight was scheduled to leave on Saturday afternoon, giving us ample time to rest on Sunday.

                Classes resumed on Monday and it seemed hard to focus for the rest of the spring semester. Thoughts of Aspen and the mountains seemed to invite their way into my subconscious during my studies. I finished the year with a 3.5 GPA; well above what even I believed was possible. I thanked Rona time and time again for her help in Biology and Chemistry. As we said our goodbyes, we promised each other that we would get together over the summer. We also were excited at the fact that we would be roommates again in the fall as we had developed a strong bond.

                That summer I began working for my father doing the books for his engineering firm. It was hard at first, but I began after about a month to see where things fell into place. It gave me a sense of accomplishment and self-confidence to know that I would have a basic understating of my classes in the fall. My core classes in the fall would include Accounting I, so I was determined to be fully prepared. My father allowed me to ease into the work and gave me what seemed to be tougher assignments each week. By mid-summer, I was doing account receivables, accounts payable and payroll. It gave me a sense of pride to see each of the employees putting in long hours and having the ability to sign their paychecks. Handing them each a paycheck on Friday afternoon became my favorite part of the job. The only paycheck that I didn’t see and sign was my father’s. Not that he was secretive and intended to hide information. On the contrary, he just felt that I needed to know that we as a family were always provided for…the amount was indifferent.

                Working regular bankers’ hours, I had time to enjoy my summer as well. I was home in time to help Mom in the kitchen prior to Dad’s arrival at 6:00 P.M. He was always the first in the office and the last to leave. He would not allow a single employee to work past 5:00 P.M., as he believed that they should have time in the evening to spend with their families.  On Wednesdays they were allowed to leave at 4:30 P.M., in order to have time to make it to church, and my father rarely allowed any of his staff to work on Saturdays.

                I was given a week off along with the rest of the employees around and encompassing Independence Day. I had persuaded Mom and Dad to allow me to visit Rona in Savannah. The drive to Georgia was arduous, but as I was greeted outside of Rona’s Savannah home it felt like a sort of homecoming. I was welcomed with open arms. That evening was much like our first evening at college. We stayed up nearly all night swapping stories about our summer to date. Rona was volunteering at a local family practice office. She loved sitting in with the physician and her patients and knew she has chosen the correct path for her studies at Vanderbilt. I too felt like I was doing work that would make me happy upon graduation.

                On Saturday morning, we packed up the car and along with her parents and traveled to nearby Tybee Island where their beach home was situated. It was much like an “A-Frame” with three levels. From my room I could walk out onto a covered balcony with a sitting area and a ceiling fan to provide a cool breeze in the evening if the weather was less than desirable. I am someone who likes to be comfortable…not too hot, not too cold. There was a pier going out into the ocean and a lighthouse nearby. In the morning, it was easy to see clear water for what seemed like an eternity. The sea gulls were plentiful, but not harassing. I awoke each morning at 5:30 A.M. so I could see the dolphins swimming. I walked the pier each night and would look up to the lighthouse and wander if anyone was standing atop overlooking the ocean.

                Rona and I practiced yoga on the beach each morning before breakfast and she would typically join me each evening for a walk along the pier. I was neither as well equipped nor adept as Rona at yoga, but I made a valiant effort. Instead in the early evening, I found myself running along the beach for some extra exercise; something I do much better. As we would walk along the pier each evening, Rona and I would discuss how we felt life would be like after college. How long would it be until we got married? Would we have a house full of children, boys or girls? What would our husbands do for a living? The questions seemed endless without any concrete answers, but we pondered away.

                On July 4th we traveled back into Savannah for the evening for the fireworks display. Savannah in the evening is beautiful as itself, and the fireworks display only added a layer of sophistication to this monumental day. Many times I have wondered how our country has come so far and at the same time drifted so far away from the values laid out by our Founding Fathers. Nonetheless, the fireworks were abundant and furious above River Street down by the waterfront. Patriotic music was played in sequence with the display and the streets were alive with vendors, regional artisans and live entertainment.

                A few more days were spent at the beach and then it was time to return to Roanoke. I would have only nine weeks left to work with my father before returning to Vanderbilt. As always, I made the most of my time at home. I could have spent more time with friends, perhaps; but it was the time spent with my mother and father in the evening that I cherished most. When my brother was not 10,000 feet above sea level, we made time for hiking or biking. He too, is someone I hold close to my heart. There is something unique about an older brother. A comforter, a protector, a friend.

                When I returned to college, I knew I would be in for three years of hard work. I had learned a lot from working alongside my father in his business. Accounting I was a challenge, but I had laid a good foundation for myself at home during the summer. Rona too was headlong into the major classes for her Pre-Med studies. That semester, we would not see much of each other besides the occasional dinner in the dining hall. Her classes were mostly in the science building and mine in the building for the College of Business.

                One evening as I exited my classroom after a long day there was a gentleman whom I had being seeing regularly throughout the halls. He had caught my eye on many occasions and it seemed that on this evening we would have the opportunity to chat. I was waiting behind him at the vending machine as a Hershey bar had become a regular snack for me in the evenings. He introduced himself by saying that he had also noticed me throughout the day. His name was Graham. He was a senior and would soon be entering the workforce as he would graduate this semester. We exchanged a few words and I soon found out that he too lived in Roanoke. His family lived in southwest Roanoke on Richelieu Drive, a street I was familiar with. We had attended different schools as I grew up in Fincastle, just outside of Roanoke even though I call Roanoke home. It is easier for people to recognize. His father was a public accountant in town and he had hoped to enter the family business upon graduation. After a few minutes, I returned along with my evening snack to my dormitory room.

                I couldn’t wait to tell Rona about Graham. He had an average build with light blue eyes, dark jet black hair and a million dollar smile. He carried himself with confidence, spoke well and dressed well. One could immediately tell that he came from an affluent family. While premature, that night Rona and I talked about the possibility of dating him. It was ironic but would be convenient. I would have someone to spend time with during the summer months. That night, I dreamed what life might be like married to an accountant. Someone with stability was something that I longed for in a family of my own.

                As the months passed, we talked more each day. We were no longer just passing each other in the hallway. I learned that he was a Virginia Tech football fan which is something we both had in common. My father received his engineering degree from Virginia Tech and had held season tickets for years.  Near the end of the semester, we had agreed that we would get together over the summer break and possibly an invite might be extended to a football game in the fall.

                It was nice at this point in my life to have a certain naivety with respect to relationships. While I had dated in high school, I never allowed myself – and my father hadn’t either – to get serious with a male companion. My father believed that dating in college was certainly soon enough. I found myself thinking of Graham on the drive from Nashville to Roanoke for summer break. I had made a 4.0 GPA that first semester of my sophomore year and was pleased to be able to share with my family that small success. As I returned home and settled in I wondered how long it would be before he would call. Would he call? And if so, how soon? I decided not to have any expectation about the issue, as it would only cause grief if the call never came.

Looking Back

In “Looking Back”, Layman weaves a collection of letters into a broader composition about true love that is never fully realized.

 Today I am ninety years old. It is hard to believe that God has given me such a full life, but I am reminded with each day just how short life is. One may think that ninety years is a long time, but it has passed in the blink of an eye. As I look over the horizon here in western North Carolina, I am reminded of the beauty of God’s creation and the many memories I have in this place. Sitting in this wooden Adirondack chair from the balcony of the Inn on Biltmore Estate, I have decided to make a pact with myself. This is the year I will tell my story. It may turn out to be just another (long) letter in my hope chest of memories, but I feel compelled to write it nonetheless.

                I have been visiting Asheville, North Carolina; and in particular the Biltmore Estate, for nearly sixty years. There is something about this place that brings me to a state of pure serenity. It also provides me with a level of comfort that I have come to expect from myself, as I have been single now for forty-five years. When I think about the Vanderbilt family, I feel like an honored guest as I visit. This year seems incrementally important as I have come with a purpose. It is in this place that I will write the longest letter of my life.

                There is a reason I have chosen this venue to begin my letter. In the time of the patrons who remain in control via family continuation of this marvelous estate, a letter was something you wrote. The written word was prized and well thought. Ink to paper, it was a glorious occasion that you had the opportunity to place pen to paper and compose the written word. It wasn’t merely a means to communicate, but a passion to convey. I feel sure that Mrs. Vanderbilt took great pride and was diligent, honest and careful with a pen in her hand. Likewise, I intend to do my story justice in the best way that I know how…by carefully choosing my words and thoughts as I place them on the page.

                This place seems to also be a place of inspiration, and to that end I hope to inspire. Asheville to me has always seemed to be a culture of free-spirits. The freedom of expression here is evident. I like to think that it is a small town of artists…painters, musicians, poets and yes, writers. I believe that people come here to write their story. As my life comes to a close, I want to at least create a lasting memory for myself; and I believe that the process of writing it will prove to be therapeutic in nature. As I enjoy the mountains and a glass of Merlot, I hope you enjoy my story.

My 20’s

                I attended a small university in Tennessee. Vanderbilt University today is one of the toughest schools in the South with respect to admission. At the time I attended, the cohort of students was mostly women. Today, the make-up is much the same as nearly half of the students admitted are women. Nashville may be a town known mostly for country music, but it has much to offer. I have visited on many occasions to walk the campus and reminisce about those days, as it was a time of growth and development for me.

                I was never far from home growing up, as I felt a great deal of love from my parents. High school is a time of great change in a women’s life as well, but not nearly as much as your twenties. I believe your twenties to be a time of exploration. To that end, I probably did not explore as much as most. Undoubtedly, I could have spent more time doing extracurricular activities like most college students do, but I still believe that I didn’t leave too many chips on the table.

                It is hard to see you parents drive away for the first time and to really feel you are alone in the world. I have a strong belief that everyone in America should experience college, but sadly that is not an option for all. Our country has seemed to place an emphasis on education, as we hear about the importance of it every four years; but we have yet to find a way to get every American a higher education. To a point, this saddens me greatly. As my parents drove away, I could see tears in my mother’s eyes and a forced look of confidence on the face of my father. I could almost hear their conversation word for word as they drove away.

                A quick walk back to my dormitory room was the first order of business. For me the only way I knew how to make myself feel at home was to make this new place my own. The décor is simple; a chair, a bed, a reading lamp on the desk and the same for a roommate. It was not long after I finished organizing that Rona appeared. She was a beautiful Southern Belle from the state of Georgia and more appropriately Savannah. Like many women from that state, she had a beautiful light complexion, curly red hair and a smile as big as the waterway at nearby Tybee Island. She couldn’t have been more proper except for her large Southern drawl. We immediately connected on that day and I would call her a lifelong friend. There is something uniquely disturbing about meeting your college roommate for the first time. You wonder where they are from, what kind of upbringing they had; will they be anything like me? For some, the divide is as wide as the ocean, but for us the gap was as narrow as a stream.

                Our fathers were both engineers and our mothers were homemakers. To us we didn’t know any other way. We were both raised in Christian homes. We celebrated the same holidays, were fond of family gatherings, and each had only a brother. In some way, the irony of our likeness molded us immediately in a way that one could only hope to expect.  It allowed me a sense of security and comfort knowing that I would not be judged or challenged for who I was. We stayed up all night that first night swapping stories. Stories about boyfriends in high school left behind, who had been the prom king and queen, where we had spent our Friday and Saturday nights, and what we were going to attempt to do with our new found freedom.

                We had each arrived on a Saturday and had decided that we would go to church together on Sunday morning. It had been a long night, but we made it to the dining hall for breakfast prior to church. After church, we spent some time roaming the campus to find where our classes were and other important locations such as the library, student center, and the offices of our instructors. Rona was a great conversationalist so the time seemed to escape us quickly and soon it was time for bed. We spent a few final minutes talking as we brushed our teeth and we resided to our beds.

                Monday morning came early and we made it to breakfast prior to our eight o’clock biology class. The classes in your first semester of college are fairly standard. Biology, Math, English, and Chemistry. I knew very quickly that I was not going to major in science. I was however, undecided as to what I wanted to do. It may be nice to have some direction prior to entering college, but I decided that it would be a learning process for me. Math seemed to come easy to me so I eventually decided to major in accounting. Rona was a Pre-Med student and for many years knew that she was going to be a doctor. She had a passion for helping people and had decided this was the best way she knew how to contribute. Thankfully, she would become my laboratory partner in biology and chemistry which proved to be a blessing in disguise for those four classes.

                The weeks were long in that first semester. Rona and I decided to make Saturdays our day of relaxation and attended football games in lieu of studying. Sundays were primarily church days with the exception of Monday exams.

That first Sunday night after a week of classes, I decided to write home.

Mom,

It has been a long week, but I wanted to take a moment to let you know that I am well. I have made a great friend in my roommate, Rona. She is a beautiful Christian lady from Savannah, Georgia. We spent all night last Saturday telling each other stories from our days in high school. It is amazing and refreshing how much we are alike. Her father is also an engineer and her mother a homemaker. They spend summers on nearby Tybee Island and she says I must visit at some point this fall before the weather gets too cold for boating. Yesterday we attended a football game and today we went to church together. I really feel like God has placed her here with me. I hope and pray that you and Dad are well.

Stephanie

                I started to understand what college life would be like but I longed for a break about mid-October. With Thanksgiving just a month away, I would soon be home. That particular month seemed long, but as I drove home to Roanoke, Virginia, on a sunny fall day I was brimming with excitement. I knew that some great Southern cooking awaited me for my return home. It is hard for me to say what my favorite holiday would be. At this point, my favorite holiday was the next one that would give me an opportunity to go home. As I opened the door to my parent’s house, I could smell the aromas of a traditional American Thanksgiving.

                One of my favorite past times is watching the Macy’s Day parade with my mother. There are times when she has to step away to check on the turkey, but for the most part this is the beginning of our Thanksgiving tradition. My mother had insisted that I invite Rona to come home with me, and I did, but she was also anxious to get back to Savannah to see her family as well. We were given from Wednesday after classes until the following Tuesday morning as our break. This would provide some time for shopping on Friday (and possibly Saturday) with my mother.

                I was good to see everyone, especially my father. I have always been my mother’s best friend and my daddy’s girl. Hugs and kisses are the first order of business when returning home. After eating at college for nearly three months, the turkey and other fixings’ were a Roman banquet. Afterward, I made some hot tea and we sat around the wood fireplace in the living room. I told Mom and Dad about the musings of college life and they recanted with what was going on at home in Dad’s business and around the farm. Life is fairly simple here at home, and I have always enjoyed that.

                Friday morning my mother and I are up at four o’clock and out the door by five. I have always been a “shop girl” at heart and to this day I love a long day in and around a mall. To me it is not only the gifts, but the time spent with whom I am shopping. On Black Friday, it has always been my mother and me. It is not uncommon for my mother and me to go shopping out of town. On many occasions we have spent holidays in places like New York, Nashville, or Pigeon Forge. This year we have decided to go to Harrisonburg, Virginia, for our adventure. Shopping is a craft I would perfect over the years, and even in my twenties it is no different. While Harrisonburg has plenty to offer on my first holiday home, it is not quite the venue I had hoped for. Instead, I focus on the time spent with my mother. Unlike myself, my mother has always leaned toward frugality. It is probably the biggest reason that my family is well-to-do, despite the fact that my father earns a better than average living.

                As expected, by 7 A.M. the shops are bustling with ladies scurrying around searching for the perfect holiday gift. My mother prefers the big-box department stores so we decide to peruse the wares for sale in these stores first. Later in the afternoon, she has promised that we will venture to the outlets where I am likely to find some more suitable items for myself and those who I will purchase for this season. My list is short. I will look for a gift for my brother, father, mother and Rona.

                After lunch we decided to go to Fink’s, a small regional jewelry store where I can find a suitable watch for my brother. Since he is a pilot, I am searching for a watch that has some unusual or unique features. I decide on the Omega Spacemaster Z-33. It serves the purpose in both form and function.  It has the capability of keeping the time and date in two time zones and allows for the user to log up to ten flights. Check! Rona will be easy to buy for as she is a fan of yoga. A quick trip to Lululemon will allow me to find her a few necessary items. Check! Mom and Dad are going to be a challenge this year and I decide to browse all day Friday and perhaps make a purchasing decision on Saturday.

                We shopped till nearly 9 P.M. on Friday and decided to give our feet a break before more shopping on Saturday. We ended our evening with a nice dinner at Olive Garden. I chose the Seafood Portofino and Mom had Manicotti. We arrived home at eleven.

                On Saturday we decided to stay close to home and shop here in Roanoke.  I woke up early and decided to go down to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea and enjoy the quiet atmosphere of home. There is an art glass window in the kitchen and as I look out over the farm, I can see rolling hills and a plethora of apple trees. The deer in the fall are those who mostly benefit from the apples, but I have been known on occasion to pluck one for myself and just walk along the hills of the farm to enjoy the fresh air. It allows me time to think. On this particular morning, I am thinking about how short my Thanksgiving vacation will be.

                Mom was the second person to arrive to the kitchen and she always begins her day with a cup of tea and her Bible. I’ve always admired her resolve to start her day by reading God’s word. Today she decides on Psalm 103. The first five verses read as follows:

“Praise the Lord, I tell myself; with my whole heart, I will praise his holy name. Praise the Lord, I tell myself, and never forget the good things he does for me. He forgives all my sins and heals my diseases. He ransoms me from death and surrounds me with love and tender mercies. He fills my life with good things. My youth is renewed like the eagles!”

                These are beautiful words and after just these five verses, she finds them to be complete enough to spend some time in prayer. I bow my head in reverence with her and close my eyes as she prays over our family and praises God for our blessings.

                We make a formal plan for our shopping trip and after showering and dressing, we are off to conquer another day. Today I will find a suitable gift for Mom and Dad. In the past I have purchased gifts for them individually, but this year I decide to buy something for them corporately. It seems harder every year to purchase a gift for them; and being a college student, I do not have much to spend. I have already surpassed my limit on a gift for my brother. What to do? It has been a few years since we have had a family portrait. While not entirely original, it will have to do. I do feel that Mom and Dad will be pleased as it will provide them with a lasting memory.

                Sunday is a day of rest. My father is a fan of college sports more so than professional so watching football is not something that we do on Sundays. Our services start at 10:30 A.M. I grew up in the Baptist church and even though Vanderbilt’s roots are Methodist, I am happy to attend a college founded under religious values. The order of business from the pulpit is simple…to be thankful for all of our blessings and to share these with family and friends. I find myself trying to relax, but I all the while know that I must travel back to Nashville in the morning. A nap seems appropriate to separate myself from my thoughts. I have one last dinner at home before bed and a long drive in the morning.