I want to talk about something that doesn't get enough attention. I want to talk about baby loss and awareness, particularly for partners.
Earlier this year my wife and I suffered a miscarriage. Go back and read that again. My wife and I suffered a miscarriage, and I did everything I could to help her through it. I put on the strong face. I let her cry on my shoulder. I provided for her and our daughter, and I was the best version of myself that I could be. I did all of that for her... but I fear I didn't do enough for me. Don't take this the wrong way, I don't resent her for anything. I don't feel bad for being a man and doing what had to be done. In a lot of ways, being there for her helped me too, but grief doesn't tend to go away that easily. I did everything I could to help my wife through this, but what I didn't realize was that in my grief, I probably wasn't doing enough. We really should have seen a counselor to help us understand our grief and work through it. Since the tragedy I have been doing a lot of research, particularly online because I live online (it is my occupation). There are absolutely astonishing statistics about miscarriage that I/we didn't know at all. However, those seem to change depending on your source. One statistic that sidelined me was that it could be one in four or one in five pregnancies end in miscarriage, or more commonly represented as a percentage - 25%. While that number alone is staggering, support for partners is still shockingly scarce. Understanding that she feels full emotional and physical aspects of pregnancy loss, partners are not immune to its impact. I read that one in five mothers suffer from long-term symptoms of post-traumatic stress after a miscarriage, one in 12 partners do too. Both parents experience the loss. This experience had me feeling depressed, insecure, scared, worried, and all the things in between. It made me feel like I wasn't good enough, which is what led me to search for some relief. I needed to know how other men deal with this emotional baggage that was/is weighing me down. Surely the answer is to guzzle a gallon of whiskey and sleep it off, right? But it's too big for that. This was my baby. We were picking names even though we didn't know the sex. Now none of those names could be considered for our next baby when and if we're lucky enough for that miracle. I cannot even imagine why someone would choose this kind of loss, but that's another subject entirely. Look, I know you're all expecting me to tell you about all the great resources I found at this point, but the truth is, I didn't. There really is not enough baby loss support for partners. Besides that, the more I read online, the more disconnected from the tragedy I felt. And that wasn't the point at all. I needed to feel it. I needed to be overcome with grief so I could get to work on getting through it. It's a sad admission that I've experienced enough close personal loss in my life to know what I need to do to get through it. However, this was a different kind of loss. It was new, so I needed a sort of compass to help get me on my way. The only problem was that I wasn't finding it online. Sure, there are some good spots to land, like the Miscarriage for Men website established by Chris Whitfield. But if you're like me, you need more. You guys, this is the part that shocked me... One day a couple of weeks ago I was watching TikTok videos on my phone and an idea popped into my head. It was late and the girls were asleep, so I decided to head downstairs to my hideout (that we refer to as the office). When I got to the office, I looked up and down all the book cases for my Bible. I found a Bible, actually about 4, but I couldn't find my Bible. (Some of you will understand.) So I grabbed one and sat at the desk. This idea that popped in my head was that if I just open it and read I will feel relieved. The idea that this Truth will help me didn't seem to be what I was looking for, but I went with it. Besides it was like 10:30 at night, what else did I have going on. I blindly opened the book to Jonah - to the beginning of Jonah. So, I read. Now, Jonah is a good and easy read. We all know the story, and I've read it a dozen times. This was a statement from a pastor friend of mine: "Jonah makes us face the fact that our prejudices and hatred can blind us from what God calls us to do." Well, okay, Bible. So what is it that God is calling me to do? The answer was, of course, to read and to pray. Pray. I'm not as familiar with prayer as I used to be. I could barely remember what it was like to communicate with God. I'll tell you this, as soon as I started it was like talking to an old friend. I talked about everything. Talked about all the feelings I had, about all my worries. I asked for forgiveness, and I asked for guidance. I have prayed almost every day since. That is where I found relief for all the post-traumatic stress. Now I can get through the grief. Ashley and I need to find a church home. This has been a big missing piece in our lives, and I believe we will find one. And I want to thank God for the man who randomly came to our door last night just to tell us that Jesus loves us, and invite us to church. There was no sales pitch or preaching, there was no pushy prayer, there was just a beautiful older man (scraggly and bearded) telling us that Jesus loves us. Telling us that God changed his life and he wanted to invite us to church. My friends, there is something happening. Are you ready? This year has been hard... like, really hard. It really didn't even start off great (except for the Chiefs winning the Super Bowl). With this stupid virus taking peoples parents and grandparents away from them, closing everything, losing jobs and completely destroying lives, Republicans and Democrats at each other's throats, police officers making mistakes, riots, protests, and general unrest, it's no wonder our (my) mental health is plummeting. Probably though, the hardest thing for me has been this unending feeling that something is missing. And look, I'm very fortunate, I have a roof over my head, food in the fridge, a beautiful wife, perfect kid, I drive a nice car (nicest I've ever owned anyway), and I was never laid off or had my job threatened during this stupid pandemic. I have it good. So why do I feel this way?
This feeling actually started creeping in this summer. I think at that time it was a combination of things. Maybe a mix of being tired of having to stay at home, and also seeing all those social media posts of people living it up at the lake or camping, whatever. I was probably feeling jealous, left out. Probably, but it started to morph into something I didn't recognize. It's deeper than jealousy or resentment. I know it's not that. I'm dealing with something that feels like a part of me is missing. Have you ever felt that? What is it? I've been thinking a lot about music lately. You know, I used to consider myself a musician? I have never been as talented as my brother or many of my friends, but I could create, I could sing. It was how I identified. But I haven't considered myself a musician in a long time, not even during the brief time that I played bass with The Coterie. I only ever felt like I was just fulfilling a role. I really hope those guys don't think I wasn't into it though. I absolutely loved playing in that band. I just wish I could have been as creative as I had been years ago. Back when I was writing song lyrics daily, and stumbling my way through crafting chord progressions. I wasn't that to The Coterie, and I kind of always thought they deserved better. I haven't really been reading as much as I used to either. Actually, let me rephrase that, I haven't been reading books as much as I used to. I've had an Audible account for years (ever since I started working at Angus) and I have around 75-85 books in my library. So, most of the "reading" I do is audio. However, I miss it. I miss getting lost in book stores - much to the dismay of my wife. I love the way getting a new book feels like the start of the school year when you're young. I love how different it is to handle a paperback and a hard back. I am one of those people who vehemently disagrees with folding down the corner of a book. I'm THAT guy! Anyway, I miss books. But I have a lot of them, so nothing is stopping me or keeping me from them. I don't know what it is. I'm angry all of the time (not outwardly). I'm bored. I'm sad about things I should just let go. I'm disconnected, which is horrible because I have a little girl to help raise. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this. Who should I talk to? Is it enough just to put it out on the Internet that I'm a messed up turd. Who knows? I don't have much love for the month of November. It seems like the first of the month starts out gloomy and a gloomy cloud hangs around for the rest of the month. This month will be six years since my dad died. It will also mark one year without my grandma Blumer.
You know how when a loved one dies you look for anything with that person in it, photos, videos, social media posts, etc., but you're looking for their likeness. You're looking for their face. You know what destroys me the most? Voicemail. They say that when a loved one dies the first thing you forget is the sound of their voice. When my dad died I still had a voicemail message from him on my phone. It wasn't even that old. It was from the weekend before he died. He was reminding me that his band, Remedy, was playing at the St. Joseph Riverboat Casino. He wondered if Ashley and I would be there. (We totally were, and they were great!) When I remembered that the message was in my inbox I almost froze on the spot. It was a chance for me to hear my dad's voice again. It was something I thought was gone forever. Which was such a stupid thing to think, really, because videos with him talking in them existed. It wasn't like I would never hear it again. However, the voicemail was a personalized message. It was meant only for me. Except for Ashley, nobody else even knew it existed. It felt heavy. I always knew it was there. I listened to it so much that I worried my iPhone would automatically delete it because it knew I had heard it already. I had a lot of moments where I would just listen to it alone in the car. I would make up a scenario where we were going to see him that coming weekend. Honestly, I was miserable. That's a weird thing to experience. While the message, his voice, made me happy, it really wasn't helping me grieve. I wasn't dealing with losing my dad, not really. I just never wanted to lose that piece of him that was mine. So, I deleted it. I'm not making light of it. That little action was as hard as signing his death certificate. I fought myself so hard that I cried for days after. (I realize there is a Deleted Messages folder on iPhone, but I also cleared it from there.) It wasn't healthy to keep that weight hanging around my neck, or in my pocket, so to speak. I had to do it, and even though it hurt to my bones, I knew it was the right call. I started to feel better. Not right away though. It really took some time, but I didn't feel like anything was holding me down. Now it kind of feels bad to think of it that way. What a weird, vicious circle. Worse yet, I have the same situation with a voicemail from my grandma Blumer. It's from a few months before she died. Again, the message was meant only for me. It's really hard to listen to it because you can hear how much pain she was in at the time. I know I'm going to have to do the same with this message, but I'm going to need more time with it. See, this one hits in an entirely different way. When my dad died, Ashley and I weren't even married yet. I hadn't even proposed (even though he was the first one to know that I was going to). We hadn't bought our house yet. And Opal wasn't even a thought. With Grandma it was a little different. She was at the wedding. She had an opinion of the neighborhood where we bought our house. She heard directly from Ashley and I that we were expecting. She was excited for us. She was happy about our future. It's hard for me to delete this one because I miss her so much. Not that I didn't miss my dad, but I was closer to him. Heck, I worked right next to him. It's not that I wasn't close with Grandma. I certainly was, but they lived an hour away from home and we didn't make the drive very often. I never lived with her. Most of the memories I have of my grandma always seem so long ago. I suppose that's a true sign of getting older. I want to keep this message. I want to, but I know I shouldn't. Because it only took once listening through it to bring tears to my eyes, and I've kind of been in a funk since then. Having had my dad and my grandma die in the month of November is hard. Like I said, I don't have much love for this month. However, I want to remember them during this time. So, if you have a story, please share it with us. At least then I'll know I'm not the only one who can recall the sound of their voices. I'm going to be a father soon. Like, really soon. My wife today is 31 weeks pregnant, and I'm a mess about it. I don't have anything ready. I've gained like 10 lbs since late summer. I'm worried and feeling sick all the time. If I had any hair left to lose it'd be gone. The other fathers in my life (my friends and family) all tell me I'll be alright. I'm sure they know what they're talking about. It just seems like I won't. So, I'm nervous, sure, but if I'm being really honest, (which apparently I am) what I'm feeling is grief. I miss my dad so much right now. He would know what I'm going through. Not that the other men in my life, especially my step-dad, Steve, don't know what I'm going through. They do, and Steve has been a solid rock for me lately. My dad, though - most of my personality came from him. The things I'm most worried about aren't that the nursery isn't ready, or how the dog going to react to a new baby at home. - WHERE ARE WE GONNA KEEP ALL THE DIAPERS?! - No, the things I'm most worried about are, what if I'm not enough? What can I even teach my little girl? How will I keep her safe? What have I really done with my life? Can we afford this? How can I be sure I'm not screwing this up? I know you'll probably think, "Psshh, you'll be fine. I had blah blah blah and I turned out alright." True enough. And considering that I also had blah blah blah and I turned out alright, this should be expected. What about a baby born in 2019? I think there are far more opportunities for children and parents now than there were thirty years ago. (Which is really exciting, by the way.) I also think there are far more dangers and I'm terrified. So, I don't know what the next ten years looks like for me... I don't even know what this year looks like for me. I have no expectations. And I think that's what I'm most afraid of. Remember that grief I mentioned earlier? It isn't just because I'm missing my dad. Here's the thing... I've been pretty selfish most of my adult life. Until I met Ashley, I pretty much did whatever I wanted. I'd buy anything I wanted, even if I couldn't really afford it, eat and drink whatever I wanted, and stayed up or out late because I wanted to. I didn't have anyone else to care for. I didn't care. I know that isn't unusual for a single guy in his twenties. Marriage pretty much ended that for me, and for the better. But if I'm being honest, (which apparently I am) I'm not ready to put away childish things. I want to eat whatever and drink whatever. I want to stay up late on weekdays playing video games. I want to spend $200 on comic books and collectables. I've been a walking ball of nerves and anger for a few months now, and after a little bit of introspection, I think it's laying heavy on me that I have to give these things up. Sure, you could say that it's not about giving things up, but finding a balance that works in your life. And you'd probably be right. The thing is though, I need to get physically and mentally healthy. Yes, marriage "pretty much" ended these habits, but it didn't stop them completely. I need to put an end to my selfish behavior so I can physically be there for my family; so I can be mentally prepared for my new life. I guess it's common. It's nothing extraordinary that I'm feeling. I'm going to be a father soon. I'm nervous, scared as hell, and totally committed to being the best that I can be. I'm a vivid dreamer. I can often remember my dreams, and I absolutely dream in color. I have nightmares regularly. (Ask my wife, who is quite tired of my crap.) But sometimes a dream sparks a writing prompt, or an exercise in thought. This is what I got out of last night: I imagined finding a way to travel back in time (I know, I know, bear with me). The limit was 10 years, and I would be completely disguised. There could be no return trip because I would dissolve in the past. This wasn't a choice I could make. I was being forced to go, and the only way to keep the moments and memories I've cherished over the last 10 years was to re-live them. Understanding this would give most people reason to hide until they dissolved. Some would choose to manipulate their own timelines, others would neglect their influence, and manipulate others' timelines. I didn't know what I was going to do. I visited my 20-year-old self, and had some tacos that I served myself. That was a bit strange, because I was beginning to have 2 sets of feelings. One part of me was worried that this kid wouldn't figure it out in time to become me, and the other was concerned that if I didn't do something I would just end up right here in an endless loop. How many times have I done this? Of course all these memories started to flood back to me. There were a lot of things I had forgotten about. The kid who stood in front of me had a good head on his shoulders. He was a bit naive, but he seemed older than I remember feeling at that age. I noticed that I, he (er, it was confusing) was listening intently to everything I had to say. I kept interjecting things that I thought were insignificant until I mentioned the Royals winning the World Series, to which I/he replied, "not in my lifetime." Then, for some reason the conversation changed. I was asked about deeper ideas; how to save money, whether or not to finish school, marriage, alcoholism and addiction, the big bang theory, and God. It happened so quickly, rapid-fire style, that I forgot why I was there. I only wanted to check in on this young man, and all of a sudden I was telling him about his future. I wanted to avoid this. I didn't want to tell him anything about who he would become. I found myself longing for the future that would be his. I wanted to see my wife, a person he didn't even know existed. I had an overwhelming sense of sadness for the young man and the loss he will experience over the next decade. He was right around the corner from heartbreak and he didn't even know it. I kept blabbering, telling him to stay on track. I told myself 10 years ago that if I do all the things exactly like I did, I would be happy. At 30, I'd have a great job, a new house, married for almost a year, money in the bank, just in case of an emergency, and no kids yet. So, naturally I screwed it all up. In the dream I began to dissolve into nothingness. At the same time my consciousness was blended with the young man with whom I had previously conversed. The only problem was that I was not in control. I was merely a spectator, and I was forced to watch as I made all the wrong decisions. Time moved quickly, as it often does in dreams, and as I watched the years draw closer to 30 I was devastated by who I had become. We were all different at that age. When we were right on the edge of adulthood. I know some were parents by then, and others had even more responsibilities than that. But for me, this dream left a feeling inside me that I can't explain. It isn't regret. I don't regret the choices I've made in my life that have lead me here. I just realize that my life could have been very different if I had done a few, seemingly insignificant things, differently. It isn't a good feeling that I was left with, but it isn't necessarily a bad feeling. You see, I also feel fortunate. Because no matter how much dreaming that young man from my past may have done, he never dreamed he would be here. Right were he always wanted to be. We shared a room when we were kids.
Jumped bed to bed because the floor was lava. We made pillow forts and haunted houses when we had bunk beds. Ghostbusters and Ninja Turtles. Wrestle mania, Brother. We had robots on border wallpaper around the middle of the room. Mom used to yell at us to "GO. TO. SLEEP!" Laughing at stupid jokes and farts. Remember when we’d throw that old football pillow across the room at each other in the dark? Remember the owl that nested in the big tree outside our window? You would get sick sometimes and couldn’t breathe. That was scary. So sometime Mom or Dad would sleep in our room with us. Then, when I was going into 4th grade, you into 3rd, we moved… We got a bigger room! Same color yellow. More room for toys, desks, and whatever. Your army men we tied to plastic bags and pretended they were parachutes. They'd float to the ground from our second story window. Neighborhood kids slept over. Bill, who never went home. We got a big stereo for Christmas that one year. No Doubt, Tragic Kingdom, All-4-One, Buckshot LeFonque. Music filled our souls and every corner of our room. But the street light was always too bright in our window. And there was traffic all night. The sounds and lights of emergency vehicles was scary at first. But to this day, when I need to find a peaceful place in my head, I think about our room and being curled up on my bed; and gazing at the traffic light down the block. The last time we shared a room, I was almost in high school, and you had to leave with Mom. Our room was too big when you were gone. All the space we made for fun things felt cold and useless. My bad dreams came more often. I just wanted things back to normal; when we were kids and our knees had scabs on them. When night-time wasn’t scary because you were there with me. I didn’t want my own room even though at one point I might have said I did. Our house was too empty without our family. Our room wasn't crowded enough. We have always been close. I haven’t had to do anything alone. Ever. You are my best friend. I know it wasn’t always perfect. I know there are things I regret doing or saying. I can’t take any of it back. I hope you don’t resent me in any way, because this, better than anything, is what I remember about growing up. Sharing a room with you. This was a note I took down while Ashley and I were at Jami's grad party. It's a little mushy, but this is how I think when I'm alone with my thought. I wanted to write it down, because this thought was beautiful and genuine. I’m currently at a college graduation party for a friend the day before Mother’s Day. In fact, the Maid of Honor for my wedding later this year, and I'm looking around at friends and the older siblings of our friends. They have kids here. Kids who think fart jokes and toilet humor are hilarious. It makes me think of my own nieces and nephews, the little turds... I catch the eye of my beautiful fiancée. I can tell she's soaking it in, and the coolest thing hit me. This woman, the love of my life, will be the mother of my children one day. It isn't something I think about often, because I'm not ready to have kids yet. But sometimes when I see her like this in these moments I realize that she is, by far, the greatest thing in my life. I never could have guessed this is where my life would lead. I'm no saint people, but I am blessed by this lovely woman. As things are winding down I find myself wondering if I've made a good enough impression on some of the folks I didn't know at the party. I can tell that it isn't even a thought in her mind. She's a confident type when surround by familiar faces even though she’s normally shy. I love that about her. She's a family gal, and for that I am humbled. The girl I'm silently watching from across the table will be a great mother to my children. My hope for this year was to create as much content as possible. I'm sluggishly building a new website for my blog, I have a homepage built for the upcoming Entry Level Geek Show podcast my uncle Sam and I are doing, I've been making music with my band, The Coterie, and I started doing a podcast of my past blogs. Where I'm lacking is in writing. I have stories floating around inside my noggin and they're screaming at me to let them out. Sometimes I see writing as a giant obstacle, because I type amazingly slow. You would think, "How does someone who does all their work on the computer type so slow?" And you would be justified in wondering. That fact about me truly does hinder my creativity. I'll be on a roll, and because it takes me so long to get it typed out, I might lose a thought, or I'll see that thought on the page and realize it isn't as cool as it was in my mind. It's for this reason that I have scraps of paper and half-empty notebooks all over my house. I can write it down a lot faster than I can type it, but I never seem to get back to those story ideas. I almost wish I had a personal assistant to type all my things, but the reality is, I should just get better at transposing all of my notes. Ah well, at least I'm thinking about it, right? The thing that got me thinking about all of this was a story note I forgot about in my Evernote account. I'll post it here: Story Idea (<-- Now that's a proper title) In a future that is super compartmentalized. So much so that people only interact through media. There is a movement beginning to emerge from the shadow. It is something so bizarre that leaders and politicians are fighting to stop it. But it comes from something ancient within us. Togetherness. Nobody wants to be alone. And now there’s a generation that will change the shape of humanity in the future. How will we change? Can the future be what almost every person has dreamed? Okay, so you can see that the idea wasn't even very good. I'm sure it's one of those idea that I woke up with from a dream, and used my phone to record the thought. Because, you know, I can text faster than I can type. (Also a fact. It's sad. So sad.) However, because of this note, I started to remember the details of the idea I had for this story. It just took a few lines for my brain to kick in and think, "yeah, I remember this." It's kinda like that scene in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire where Dumbledore is pulling the memories from his mind and placing them in the pensieve. That's how my brain works. A little reminder, and BAM! – back to story drafting mode. So, at least I have my ideas written down. I'll get something started. It's far too worth it for me to keep writing. Maybe once my website is built I'll post some stories I have finished there. Who knows. It may be a little while before I'm finished with that project too. Okay, I know it's been like 2 months since I've written anything, and if you've read this drivel before, then you know that I'm engaged now. Which means I'm busy doing wedding stuff. I don't know, I guess I didn't think I was going to write about more of that, but I feel like maybe putting in a few lines of the exciting stuff. Who knows where it will go. Ashley and I decided who we would like to be in our wedding party. Then, we had a pizza party (because we're 10), and asked them nicely to be part of our big day. Luckily for us nobody declined. That would have been awkward. We both made individual gift boxes for our people. (Yeah, I call them our people.) Ashley put these really neat boxes together with a monogram stencil of the bridesmaids' first initial on each. Next, she added some girly gifts; nail polish, silly flavored chapstick (the kinds that little girls think are rad), a funky pen, a really nice necklace with a silver engraved pendant, and a miniature bottle of pink moscato. Then she wrapped them in bows the same color as the dress she'd like them to wear. I didn't put that much work into it. Plus, we're all dudes. I used cigar boxes and I had a friend from work write their names under the lids in really nice calligraphy. Then I added a small bottle of Crown Royal Regal Apple (because I know the way to a man's heart), a cigar, cutter, long wood matches, and a bow tie to put it all together. The bow ties are the same colors as the girls' dresses. We made them match. They didn't seem to mind. Each of them had a personalized note inside their boxes. It was a fun project for us to work on together; especially knowing it would be something special for our friends. We've booked the church and the reception hall. In my opinion, that was the easy stuff. I think we both walked into the church and felt a tingle that started in our toes, and worked it's way out through our finger tips. We knew right then that it was our place. The reception hall was a bit harder though, because we had the same reaction to one place in particular. The only problem was that it was too small to accommodate the number of guests we anticipate. This is really where my heart broke in the search for our reception hall. I couldn't continue. I didn't want to see any other places. They wouldn't be nearly as cool, and that was the only place I wanted to do it. And that was my final word. But then Ashley stepped in and found a place that will be perfect for us. (Again, boys, she's mine.) We talked my cousin, Kristen Powers, into being our official photographer for the day. I'm thrilled about it, because it will eliminate that awkward wall of unfamiliarity that comes with a stranger taking personal pictures of you. An acquaintance of mine agreed to MC/DJ for us, and I'm hoping a good friend of mine will do the videography for the day. I have a lot of faith in my talented friends and family. I know they will help us have a spectacular day. There's still quite a bit of planning to do, but with friends and family helping out I think we're closer than it seems. I'm actually super excited for the day to come. I honestly never thought ahead to my wedding day before all this. Sure, there were times when I thought about getting married, but this is all real. It's a different sense than just imagining. The biggest difference is that when I have an idea about something that I think would be cool, all I have to do is say it out loud and it becomes a plan instead of an idea. It's a neat process, but I'll tell you this; never again. Good thing I'm marrying Ashley. She's the best part of me. She's my people. I was just sitting here at my desk after finishing my lunch of a delicious split pea soup, and decided to click the shuffle button on my iTunes playlist titled, "Classical." And well, let me tell ya, I am never unmoved by great music, regardless of genre. It could be because I'm a big soft teddy bear, but I think in this case it's because the suite (Clair de lune) makes me think of my dad. Also, it made me think about my upcoming wedding. I'm going to be very real right now. I just want the wedding to be everything Ashley has ever wanted it to be. I could literally be happy to not make any decisions about it at all, as long as it was everything she wanted. And I genuinely mean that. I know a lot of people would probably think, "that's a cop-out", but it's not. I know I'll have to make some decisions, and hopefully they're great ones for the sake of my fiancée and our guests. It got me thinking about something I saw just after Christmas that kind of upset me a little. (Basically, I let a troll on the internet get to me.) You see, I proposed to Ashley on Christmas. According to the internet troll on Facebook, that was unoriginal. As a matter of fact, I'll post what I read. (This was not from the person whose page I saw it on. He simply re-posted, and I acted irrationally and unfriended him. Sorry.) "The biggest problem I have with proposing on Christmas is that it's unoriginal. It's just so incredibly lame. Same goes for New Year's Eve. It's just foolish and self-centered to do it on days that should be about family and friends, not your relationship. It's a cliché wrapped in a cliché wrapped in a metaphor for yout sh***y, unoriginal, uninspiring love story that will culminate with you getting down on a knee in the living room, leaving most of the family members in attendance with a look on their face that says, "Look at this f***in' guy."" If you're wondering, yes, I edited the expletives. I wanted to address this though. You can't just throw a blanket over something like this and call it cliché. (Actually you can, but I wanna complain about it, so meh.) I don't agree with anything this fella was saying, and I actually felt a little sorry for him. Here's the thing: I (and by 'I', I mean we) have had an extremely tough year. In 2013 we were all still so numb from Dad's death that we really couldn't enjoy our holidays. I'm thrilled that this year was different. Ashley and I gave the family something to smile about and to look forward to. Sounds to me like we were able to give something special to our family and friends. It wasn't just about us. The other thing is how this dude called it unoriginal and uninspiring. That's great. (I get the idea that this person is really lonely.) See, I'd been planning to propose for about a year. I knew last Christmas that I definitely wanted to marry her, (eat your hearts out boys, she's mine) but the only issue for me was, when? I had a few really cool and totally original ideas, but let's face it, it's all been done before. So, I didn't do something that would have gone viral on YouTube. I didn't fly her all around the world just to ask for her hand at our last destination. I didn't hide secret messages that lead her on a scavenger hunt to find her ring and myself waiting for her to say yes. (And I'm not saying those are bad ideas.) Instead of extravagant, I played Santa at out family Christmas get together. I made sure all the presents were passed out. Then, I got down on a knee and asked the woman I love to be my wife. I did it in front of my family. I wasn't trying to take all the attention. I was trying to give my girlfriend the very best Christmas gift I could. She deserves so much more for all the things she's done for me in the past couple of years. I want her to be my family. Oh, and ask anybody who was there if it was annoying. They'll tell you the truth. All I know is that it was about love, not my relationship. Love for my family, love for my lady, and love for the things to come. And you know what? Ashley thought it was absolutely perfect. #winning. |
AuthorI started blogging thinking that this is where I would review whatever media I felt like ranting about. It quickly changed direction. So this is my online diary. Comments are welcome. Archives
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