Chapter 1: The Unknown (The beginning of how we met.)

Chapter 1
The Unknown

Should I write this letter or should I just forget it? Someone needs my help? He is suffering so, and I am too. “Lord, what should I do?” I prayed quietly to myself as I sat in the dark of my now quiet lonely house while my daughter slept. It has weighed heavily on my heart.

A colleague of mine had told me about Mark, a man I never knew existed. He was a long time friend of hers and he was grieving over the loss of his wife. She had passed away only one week before my husband. She was very worried about him. “Jaime, you seem to be so strong. I wish Mark could talk to you or get some sort of help.” Little did she know that I was not strong. I was able to hide my feelings until I was alone. That is the moment that I battle the loneliness, the fear, and the heartache. I not only ache for my myself, but for my angel who has lost her daddy. A man she only knew for eight years of her precious life. Mary’s words continued to haunt me though. Someone needed help. How could I not help? I knew of no one else that was grieving the loss of a spouse at this very same moment. There was a moment of selfishness too. I needed rescuing. Maybe by me trying to save him he could actually save me.

I still questioned whether this was the right thing to do as I stood staring at the sympathy cards at Hallmark. There was a vast amount of cards, but I had no idea which to pick. How do you pick a card for someone you don’t even know? I don’t know this man at all. I have never met him or even seen a picture of him. I was only told about him last week. This is absolutely crazy. I almost backed out when I spotted the perfect card. Simple. That was all I needed.

Worry sat in about what the people, of this small community where I resided, would think if they found out that I was writing to a man. Shiloh is a rural community of North Carolina quietly nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It is such a beautiful, quaint, yet backwards place where an innocent gesture would be turned into something trashy in their eyes. ”Why she hasn’t even grieved for her husband, and she is already looking for a man.” I could hear them now. What do they know? They live in their own little judgmental world. If it’s not their way, it’s the wrong way. I am grieving and so is someone else. I will write it!! And I did. It took three rough drafts and the fourth try was completely different from the rest. I just prayed that the Lord would give me the right words to say.

It was after midnight when I finally completed the fourth draft. I sat in the dark of my house and reflected on what I had written and where my life and gone wrong. I wanted the night to end so that I could make the trip to the mailbox.

“Why did we have to build such a long driveway,” I thought to myself as I walked to the mailbox at the end of the road. The road seemed longer now. I could turn around and go back home and not even mail the letter. I don’t have to do this. He would never know because he doesn’t even know I exist. I continued on my quest. I was taught that you finish what you start. Did it really apply this time? As I approached my mailbox my heart began to race. I opened the door of the box as if something would jump out and bite me. I carefully placed the card and letter in the box treating it as if it was a delicate piece of china. I closed the door and raised the red flag at attention. It was done. I turned around knowing that I would not go back to retrieve it. This was something that had to be done. My quest for the day was over. Relief had not set in. I had no idea how lives would be changed from that day forward.




Chapter 2
The Meeting


“Kaylin, it’s time for bed. We need to get some sleep.” Ever since the death of my husband, my daughter, Kaylin, and I have been sleeping together. Maybe it’s loneliness, fear, or comfort. Kaylin had just fallen to sleep and I was lying there watching the t.v. when the phone rang. Who could possibly be calling at this hour? “Hello,” I answered slowly and cautiously. On the other end of the line was a deep voice—a voice that sounded as if it should be in broadcasting.
“Is this Jaime?” the voice asked. “This is she,” I answered realizing at that moment who it was.

Mark introduced himself to me and we began to talk. We talked mostly about the letter that was sent. He had never received a letter like that—I can’t say that I have either. We talked on into the night discussing our tragedies and what we had been going through. All we needed was someone to listen…to understand.

Each day I heard from Mark—mostly at night we would talk. There were nights that one of us would just listen while one would cry or get angry. The more we talked the more we began to realize we had a lot in common. Parallels were drawn, the largest being our spouses dieing exactly one week a part. Our birthdays are only one day a part, although he is fourteen years older. Mark’s father had been a police officer in a small town in Texas (my home state). Even our anniversaries were 2 days a part. As time went on more parallels were drawn.
Was there a reason? What did it all mean?
I found myself asking God, “Why did I write that letter? Why do we have so much in common? God, are you trying to tell me something? Why did we have to suffer so much from the loss of our loved ones and then find each other? Did you send me to the Carolinas for this purpose?”
I never received an actual answer from God, but I have said from the beginning that there is a plan and reason we were to meet--if only it was to help each other.
It was October 30 and I found a way to muster up the nerve to call him and ask him if he would like to meet my friends and me for dinner on Saturday night. After working so hard to even make the call he wasn’t home. What should I do? I left a message for him with the invitation.
Proper Etiquette? Probably not.
Late that night I received a phone call. It was him. He had just returned home from a concert that night and had received my message. He agreed to meet us. I am not sure what I felt at that time. This would be the first time we would see each other. I was excited, nervous, and even confused by the emotions I was experiencing.

Saturday finally arrived.

What would I wear? What does he look like? How will I know it is him?

My emotions were running rampant as question after question went through my mind. Fortunately I would have my friends with me. This was not something that I could do alone. What would he even think of me? I can’t believe I was actually worried about what he would think. We had only talked a few times and we weren’t not in any position to be looking at starting a new relationship, or so I thought.

Amanda arrived at the house promptly and we began our “girls adventure” for the night. We met Lindsey at her apartment for drinks and then on to the restaurant where Mark and I would meet for the first time. One drink wouldn’t do it for me. I needed more of the liquid “valium” in a bottle to calm my nerves.

We sat at the bar and decided to go ahead and order our dinner. I couldn’t eat too much. I was too nervous. Trying to listen and join the conversation was a difficult task. I couldn’t stay focused long enough to even comprehend what was being said. I kept looking around for any sign that he might be in the restaurant. I began to narrow my choices—the man alone at the table didn’t seem he was waiting on anyone. He busy eating and enjoying his solitude. Knowing the age of Mark, I knew the young man in his mid to late twenties was not him either. I continued to scan the restaurant and I didn’t see anyone that looked like they were searching for someone. We had a few more beers and laughed and talked the usual girl talk. I began to relax more and more, but as the time crept by I thought I was being stood up. He wasn’t going to show. I tried to come to grips with the fact that I might not meet him. I wanted to be able to put a face to the sad voice I had been talking to so openly each night. I wanted to see the man that I already knew so intimately through our tears and laughs and anger. God knew what I was thinking and feeling because and the anxiety I was having. I was still sitting at the bar when I noticed a man in a brown corduroy jacket walk in to the bar area. He seemed to be looking for someone or something. Could that be him? I wasn’t sure. He headed towards the restroom and entered. I blew it off thinking that he was just looking for the men’s room. Once he came out of the bathroom he still seemed to be looking around for someone. I think this is him. Could it be? I had described my hair color and what I looked like. I never told him what I would be wearing because I did not know at the time. His eyes locked with mine. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I knew immediately that it was him. It was Mark, the man I had been sharing my deepest feelings with so passionately over the phone. A face, I finally had a face to go with the voice. “Are you Mark?” I asked cautiously. “Are you Jaime?” Easy way to start a conversation. I offered him the bar stool next to me and ordered him a beer. We immediately began to talk. Small talk at first. Although we had talked so openly on the phone, seeing each other face to face made it a little more uncomfortable. I was enjoying his company. As we talked and drank we began to have deeper conversations about our losses and even our future. At that moment I had no idea what the future would hold. I just wanted to escape the past.

As the night came to a close Mark leaned in to me and his soft lips gently touched mine. Our lips held each other as if we had been waiting for this moment ever since the time we met over the phone. What it meant and where it would head only God knew, but I wasn’t going to question it. I had felt something run through my body that I had not felt in a long time. I felt a freedom to be me and a longing for a man that seemed to understand.