Wednesday, April 25, 2012

To My First Love...

I fell in love when I was 16.  It was literally instantaneous.  One moment he was my friend, and the next moment, I just knew I couldn't live without him.  I sort of had a fairytale romance idea of love.  (Go figure)  I completely expected adoration and devotion.  I expected him to put up with my sass and indulge my quirkiness.  But I was 16, and still had a lot to learn about love. 

I'm twice as old now.  And have spent half of my life with the boy I first fell in love with.  (Oh yes, I found what I wanted and I held on.  I beat off his other admirers with a stick-figuratively speaking...kind of.) And what I've learned is how priceless and beautiful is the love that I've been given.  I took it for granted at 16, but I don't at 32.

For 16 years, he's been my biggest cheerleader and supporter of any, and all, of my dreams.  He makes me brave.  He sees me as I want to be, and not as I am.  When my dad died in September, he grieved for the man that he loved as much as I did, privately, so that he could be strong for me.  He still puts up with my sass and smiles at my quirks.  He's my strongest defender, and on my best days, I don't deserve him.


I have this tidbit of memory of wrinkled, work worn hands holding a blue bound book and smoothing back the thick, creamy first pages as a gravelly voice read the dedication.  Ever since, I have been unusually fascinated with dedications.  They are my first stop in a book, and I often sit and wonder at the stories behind the words.  I will probably never write a book.  But if I did, I would dedicate it to my first love.  And now you have a glimpse at the story behind the words.  So here's to you, Chris Cummings, another 16 years won't be long enough.


  1. Aw, that's so sweet! Congratulations to you both!

  2. What a beautiful love story, Esther. Made me sniffle a bit.
    Catherine Denton