Eleven Wonderful Years

I probably should have written this a year ago. After all, Ten seems to be a more significant number than eleven. Maybe it’s because I am a programmer, and as such I start all lists with zero instead of one. Maybe it’s because this marriage is so awesome that it “Goes all the way to eleven”. Whatever the reason, I find myself reflecting on the fact that as of tomorrow I have been married to my best friend for eleven years.

It all started almost twelve years ago, when she became a roommate of another of my best friends, DeNiece. I was terminally single, having three strikes against me: I was [1] a divorced father [2] living in Provo [3] trying to hide from who I had become inside bottles and empty cigarette boxes. I dated a lot, but most often to people who were more dysfunctional and carried more emotional baggage than myself (and that was saying a lot).

DeNiece was accustomed to me being interested romantically with her roommates over the years, even though I had not succeeded in getting a single one of them to date me. I think she even found it amusing at times. Then Amy moved in with DeNiece.

I found Amy to be very cute, & I loved talking to her. We began to hang out closer and closer in our group of mutual friends. DeNiece was not pleased with this. She was worried about Amy, worried that she would end up just one more name on my long list of romantic failures. More than a few times, she counseled me to be careful, and to not hurt Amy.

I can’t say what Amy saw in me at that time. I was definitely a project. We kept this up for a few weeks, until I was leaving on a long trip. At the time I was leaving, I was happy to think that I was for the first time in years coming back to… something. Maybe even a relationship.

While I was gone, a rival struck. Another guy who Amy had known for a long time took advantage of my absence, & by the time I returned, they were an item. I didn’t take it well, & returned to that prison of my own making. A couple of months later, Amy & the other guy ended their brief relationship, and she was again available. Some of the flirting started again, but she was hesitant. It wasn’t hard to understand why. Here she was, a BYU graduate working in an actual career and going places, while I was stuck in at a dead-end in my job, living in an apartment with roommates I hated, hiding from my problems behind a haze of chemical refreshments.

She deserved better. Much better.

I had mostly stopped drinking, and decided to remove the “mostly” and make that decision final. My last drink was in October of 1997. I also stopped smoking, with my last cigarette in November 1997. I started to go to church with friends. I needed to be a better man if I wanted a shot at her. In the meantime, the flirting with Amy continued, but there was another guy trying to make his move. I didn’t put up much resistance, especially after hearing Amy tell DeNiece around the start of December 1997 “I am SO done with guys! I don’t even want to think about dating someone for A LONG TIME!”

I still needed to be a better man.

In the week leading up to Christmas, Amy asked me out on a date. I was shocked! I told her “I thought you were done with guys for a long time!” She said “I was. Now I’m just tired of waiting for you to ask me out!”

As they say, “the rest is history”. We overcame a number of challenges & got married almost a year later, & sealed together a year and a half after that. Amy helped me try to be a good influence on my son, and we have added 4 wonderful kids to our family. We have a house, a dog, and what I consider to be a wonderful (if hectic) life. She has stuck with me through challenging career changes. She puts up with the stupid things I do, with the dorky jokes I make, with the endless projects I start and not finish. She puts up with my multiple time consuming jobs, church callings & coaching duties, which make her feel like a single parent at times.

I still think she deserves a better man, so each day I try just a little more to be the man she deserves.