It’s not a tragedy

31 December 2015

Nine years ago (approximately), Steve tackled me on the beach in Byron Bay and planted a whopper of a kiss on me that continues to reverberate. Yes, there is a minor, ongoing disagreement with the words “tackled” and “me” and “Steve” and who really did the “tackling”. What is agreed is that the incident was the start of a new kind of relationship for us. We had been friends who ran into each other at work from time to time, we went to the movies once in a while, we had the occasional glass of wine and a chat. That kiss opened the door to a new world of richness that neither of us had expected.

We haven’t always known how to describe or define our relationship, especially early on. We just agreed to treat each other with love and respect and let the rest of the world put a name to it. This little tactic kept us from making assumptions about each other and required that we talk in descriptive terms about where we wanted to go, what we wanted to do together and how we would live in each others’ company.

We kept the love alive while I lived and studied in Fiji. I lived in Canberra and then we lived in Canberra. We moved to New Zealand and bought a house and designed renovations together with an architect.  There were a few very comfortable years when we probably did make a few assumptions about each other; about where we were going and what we were doing together.

The accident in April changed that for us. Suddenly there were question marks over nearly everything present and future related. I say “nearly” because the one constant has been our way of treating each other. Steve nailed it in the hospital when he said to me that this kind of life event amplifies everything else. If we had been terrible communicators, we would now go for days without speaking; if we were the type of couple who bickers, we would now be the type of couple who fights visibly, audibly, bitterly.

Lucky for us, what this life event has amplified is love and respect and a healthy dose of laughter – even when things are at their worst. We have our moments when one of us might need a juice box and a nap or a clean up and some heavy pain relief … possibly both, but the accident and its aftermath have opened the door to a new world of richness that neither of us expected. Again. As it happens, this story isn’t a tragedy at all, but a love story.

I have loved him from the start – his insight, his huge soft heart, his confidence in us. I saw it all then, and I see it all now multiplied.

I absolutely wish that I could give him a healthy me, an easy ride into the rest of our lives together, the fulfillment of dreams we had. Instead, we have to find new ways of being together, new ways for me to accommodate a changed body and new ways to navigate the world hand in hand. We have to face the question marks together and change them one by one.

This post is for him. I write it with gratitude and humility for his love. For our nine years together. For the hope of many, many more.