Yesterday my brother Ben left for America. The night before he had a sleepover with 5 of his closest friends. On the morning of his flight everyone came to see him off at the airport. Goodbyes are never easy. Ben told me the other day, “you don’t know what people really think about you until you’re gone”. After a two hour train ride and a breakfast of Krispy Kremes it was time for the hugs. Tears filled some of our eyes. All our hearts breaking. Then as Ben was disappearing into the crowd one of the teenagers shouted out to him, “You qualify to be black!” That comment touched my heart the most. These teenagers talk often about brotherhood. Colors are not seen. No more differences. One blood from the same heart. I once a heard a saying that in your life you will have seven true friends. I think Ben found a few of those friends here.
Love is no longer a red heart drawn with crayon. It’s much more complicated than that.
I find myself in a minority group of women. Women who love their husbands, and they love us in return. This should be a great thing yes? But then why am I plagued with guilt? Women talk. We share secrets. Sometimes it is talking to other women we realise how good or how bad we have it in the love department. I want to say, “I was just like you!” But I know they don’t care. I want to say, “I felt that way too!” But I know they are going to roll their eyes at me. I’ve had not-so-great relationships but this is actually a good thing because I can now appreciate my husband so much more. Ever hear someone say about someone else, “they’ve had a rough life” and the people listening all nod their heads sympathetically? Well, I say who cares if they did! We all have had it tough! But now I’m happy because I chose to be. I chose my path, I chose what life I wanted and I chose him. Love sucks when you find yourself on a one-way street so I’m glad love found me when I wasn’t looking.