October 20, 2007
Susie,
I want to make three promises to you today. I have crafted these very carefully to make sure they are promises I can keep.
Words. Our relationship has been built on words and stories from the very start. I started telling you stories even before we ever got together, stories of my childhood growing up on this very coastline, not far from here. I told you about Japanese beetles, and slumgullion, and the 180-yard par 3 eighth hole on the Asbury Park golf course. And I listened to your stories. Because much of our courtship was long-distance, disembodied words are what we had to create the fabric of past that we never actually shared. I cannot promise that all of our stories will have happy endings, but I can and do promise to keep telling stories, and to be a truthful narrator and an attentive listener.
Touch. On a blisteringly hot July day in Schnecksville, Pennsylvania, I took your hand. I do not to this day understand how that happened, since I hardly knew you. It was automatic, effortless, magical—an ancient gesture. And of course we have continued to touch one another. Neuroscientists will tell you that you have specialized cells in your brain, mirror neurons, that tie together perception and touch, and the more two people touch one another, the more these neurons blur the distinction between self and other. From the perspective of my brain, I no longer end at my fingertips, because I have begun to encompass you into my own body map. I cannot promise you that my grip will always be as strong as it now, but I can and do promise that I will always hold on, and that my hand will be there whenever you reach for it.
Eyes and vision. I thought long and hard about this vow. Our relationship has always been multi-faceted, so I do not want to reduce it to our experience in recovery. Yet we both know that this gathering would not even be taking place, we would not be having this conversation or celebration if we didn’t each make a life decision to pull out of a downward spiral and embrace certain principles of good living—to live authentically, honestly, clear-eyed and clear-headed. I cannot promise you that my eyes will not weaken over time, but I can and do promise you that I will keep my eyes open, that I will try to keep small things in perspective and keep focused on what’s important.
My eyes and vision, my hands and my touch, the words of my mouth: These are all mere instruments of my heart, which I give to you today, completely and forever, Susie.
I want to make three promises to you today. I have crafted these very carefully to make sure they are promises I can keep.
Words. Our relationship has been built on words and stories from the very start. I started telling you stories even before we ever got together, stories of my childhood growing up on this very coastline, not far from here. I told you about Japanese beetles, and slumgullion, and the 180-yard par 3 eighth hole on the Asbury Park golf course. And I listened to your stories. Because much of our courtship was long-distance, disembodied words are what we had to create the fabric of past that we never actually shared. I cannot promise that all of our stories will have happy endings, but I can and do promise to keep telling stories, and to be a truthful narrator and an attentive listener.
Touch. On a blisteringly hot July day in Schnecksville, Pennsylvania, I took your hand. I do not to this day understand how that happened, since I hardly knew you. It was automatic, effortless, magical—an ancient gesture. And of course we have continued to touch one another. Neuroscientists will tell you that you have specialized cells in your brain, mirror neurons, that tie together perception and touch, and the more two people touch one another, the more these neurons blur the distinction between self and other. From the perspective of my brain, I no longer end at my fingertips, because I have begun to encompass you into my own body map. I cannot promise you that my grip will always be as strong as it now, but I can and do promise that I will always hold on, and that my hand will be there whenever you reach for it.
Eyes and vision. I thought long and hard about this vow. Our relationship has always been multi-faceted, so I do not want to reduce it to our experience in recovery. Yet we both know that this gathering would not even be taking place, we would not be having this conversation or celebration if we didn’t each make a life decision to pull out of a downward spiral and embrace certain principles of good living—to live authentically, honestly, clear-eyed and clear-headed. I cannot promise you that my eyes will not weaken over time, but I can and do promise you that I will keep my eyes open, that I will try to keep small things in perspective and keep focused on what’s important.
My eyes and vision, my hands and my touch, the words of my mouth: These are all mere instruments of my heart, which I give to you today, completely and forever, Susie.
Wray,
When you reached for my hand that hot July afternoon on Scheirersville Road, I only knew that it felt just right.
And when we had our first date in Duck, as we watched the sun rise each day and walked and talked and laughed together, I felt something awaken in me.
And when you danced me around the kitchen while we were making our evening meal that first week, I knew that I wanted to share many, many meals with you.
The wonder and joy I began to feel then has only deepened.
And so it is that I am here today with you and everyone I most love to pledge my love and commitment to you for a lifetime.
I love you as you are and as you hope to be. I do not want to change you. I promise to honor and respect the father, the brother and the friend that you already are and to love you as a person both perfect and flawed.
I will pay attention to you and to the life we choose to build together and I will do my best to listen and understand you with my ears and my heart.
I will take care of myself, physically, emotionally and spiritually, doing all I can to stay healthy and vibrant so that we can live a long and joyful life togehter.
I will be your refuge and your comfort, a safe haven through life's certain sorrows.
And most of all, I will be honest and faithful and true to you and the promises I have made today.
I love you.
posted by Wray Herbert at 5:55 AM
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