By Your Side

Love is a many splendid thing. Love is a battlefield. The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return. Hey, I didn't say it. But after seven years of marriage I will say this: Love is a learning experience.

I met Andy when I was nineteen. I had recently moved back to Salt Lake after spending the summer with my family in Northern California. Why I decided to come back, is anyone's guess. I was not going to college. I had no job prospects. I had no family. All I had was my 1988 Buick Regal, some friends from LDSBC, and an air-mattress. But life was good. I scored a sweet job at Subway, where I got a six-inch free sub every day. I found an apartment in South Salt Lake with awesome roommates and an open bunk. I shopped at the D.I. I got the crap beat out of me in mosh pits, I survived almost entirely on tuna and Marshmallow Mateys. Each day was brim with limitless possibility. And I was happier than I had ever been.

I met Andy at a Trolley Square YSA dance. We had both arrived early to avoid paying the six dollar admission (it was only three if you arrived before nine) and for some reason I was under the impression that it was eighties night. My pants were pegged, I wore yellow high top converse and hoop earrings. And I was rocking out like a deranged Molly Ringwald alone in the middle of the sparse dance floor. Clearly I did not attend these dances to attract a mate. But attract one I did. For from his balcony perch Andy saw me for the first time, and thought to himself, "I could marry that girl." Love moves in mysterious ways.

He asked me to dance. I wish I could remember the song. I found him quite pleasant and conversation came easily. We touched on his mission to England, and his aspirations to become a graphic designer. When the song ended he mentioned it would be cool to hang out and asked for my phone number. I explained that I was in the middle of moving and didn't have one, which he took for a very lame blow-off and was about to cut his losses when I instead asked for his. He wrote the number on a dollar bill and told me not to spend it. Bold move- defacing money for me. I was intrigued.

We had our first date March 23, 2001. He took me to a comedy club downtown. We walked around the conference center. He bought me a banana shake. The more I learned about him the fonder I became of him, because let's face it, Andy is just a cool guy. We didn't share all the same interests, but were both from part-member families, laughed at the same movie-lines, and (what are the odds) he too owned a 1988 Buick Regal. A week later we had our second date. The week after that my life changed dramatically.

On April 3 I received a phone call. My dad had died suddenly of a heart attack while at work. It was a devastating and sobering shock. Everything was altered and I feared that I would never feel like myself ever again. Not ideal circumstances for a new relationship. I was realistic. I knew Andy would sympathetically fade away. After all he didn't know me well, and even some of my closest friends were distant. I didn't blame them. Death is awkward. But Andy called me. He didn't know what to say; he hardly knew me. It must have been scary for him, but he called to see if I was okay. He called out of genuine concern for me, as a person. He called because he is that kind of guy. And in one moment my fondness for him turned into appreciation and respect.

We took it easy. April was crazy for both of us. I was trying to readjust to life. Andy was preparing to graduate from CEU. We kept in touch through email. In May he moved home to Murray and started holding my hand. Appreciation and respect turned into attraction. Attraction turned into new love. New love turned into genuine friendship. He asked me to marry him that December on a sailboat, off the coast of San Juan Capistrano.

Andy entered marriage with a sigh of contentment and a flop on the couch. I entered marriage with a "to-do" list and a cattle prod. Between our miscommunications and unrealistic expectations it hasn't been all slow-dances and roses. Relationships are hard. They require a great deal of acceptance and self-sacrifice; the real-life applications of love. These past seven years have taught me so much. Love is a learning experience. Love is a choice. And as it turns out, love is a many splendid thing. After seven years, genuine friendship has matured into deep love and appreciation. Plus he's still H-O-T. Come on!

Happy Anniversary Sweetie!

I love you more than ever.