Dear Tom Selleck . . .
I don't want to get married. Ever. I'm not sure if I ever did. I can remember in my teens and twenty's, thinking it's what I would do. Because it's what people did. What people said I would do. What I should do. I imagined it with my high school sweetheart, again with the first boy I shacked up with. Imagined it, but it never felt quite right. I thought it was the wedding piece of it. I knew I didn't want a wedding. That, I knew for sure. I wanted to elope. Always had. Made a $10,000 deal with my dad in Vegas when I turned 21. He promised to pay for my elopement and kick in another ten grand, if and when it happened. Deal. I was going to make him pay up, someday.
I only make sure bets. So did he. Looking back, I wonder if while I was looking for someone with whom to elope and make him pay up, he was quietly smiling and shaking his head with the knowledge he would ultimately win, because no one would ever be good enough. How could they be? I was uniquely me, with fairy tale like standards, and . . . I had him for a dad. He didn't have to say it. He didn't have to prove it. It just was what it was. And he knew it. He knew me before I knew me. I wouldn't get married.
But, he wanted me to be taken care of. He told me so. I want that too. I did then and I do now. But I didn't tell him that. Instead, I told him I could take care of myself. I didn't need anyone else.
I have been really obstinate about that since he died. This is the year I had to learn a new lesson.
I have needed people more than ever. Have had to rely on them. Trust them. Let them in. Let them help. Let them take care of me. Not just one person. People. It's been uncomfortable. Stifling. The second hardest year of my life. It has hurt. A lot. But also? It has been amazing. One for the books. Literally. The books. I'm writing a roman-fleuve. Look it up.
Edie B. Kuhl