She loved me

16 years ago, I began the day unbetrothed. By the end of the day, I was engaged to Heidi.

I had hoped today to write a record of that whole day 16 years ago. (And it was a whole day. I had a plan). But I do not have the time or the will to write tonight. I hope I will do so later, when I can, so that memories do not continue to fade. I will use the time I have this evening in recollection and memory of that day. It is what I crave right now.

The only part I will share is what Heidi said when I asked her. I had planned to propose at a specific spot in the Villa Borghese. But May 1 in Italy is a holiday--their Labor Day. And the park of the Villa was full. The spot I had picked was crowded with families enjoying a slow evening outdoors, as is the custom in Italy every Sunday and holiday.

So I had to find another spot. I led Heidi in many different directions, apparently aimlessly.

She told me later that she knew what was probably coming. In fact, she said she had a good guess ever since we stopped at an image of St. Joseph to pray after Mass that morning (I believe it was in the Sacred Heart chapel in the Gesu, but this is one of those examples of memories fading).

I finally found a spot on a little knoll, with a lone tree (something like the undulations you can see here). It was good, probably better than the spot I originally picked.

When I got there, I followed the tradition. I got down on one knee, and presented the ring that I had bought. (Heidi's roommate, Mary Nolan, who was the only one who knew before that day what I was going to do, had helped me determine Heidi's finger size).

And I said, "Heidi, will you marry me?"

Heidi had her broad smile. She didn't lose any composure. She didn't say any interjections, or any such thing. She didn't even say, "Yes", or "of course", or any word that simply gives indeterminate assent to whatever was previously said.

She said a sentence. She said, gently, somewhat melodically, "I will."

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Many times in our married life, I had wondered at my good fortune. I am not being self-deprecatory here: I genuinely wondered sometimes what Heidi saw so special in me. It seemed like there was a great imbalance in the attractive power of the two personalities in our marriage.

I know she didn't see it this way, but this is how it seemed to me.

It was not as if Heidi needed me. I have come to know many of Heidi's friends from before I met here. There were many good people in her circles, including many good young men. And, as her father mentioned in comment on her CaringBridge page, I was not the first person smitten with her. Why was I so lucky? This stranger from Kansas and California that she met in Italy?

There are many almost fairy-tale aspects about how and where we met, about our courtship, engagement, and marriage. The experience of our lives together overall now is like some fairy-tale beginning, with a very tragic ending. But I guess that is part of the human story. We are mortal. Even if there is a "happily ever after," the shock--the intense, unpreparable shock--of endings must be a part of the loves that we form on earth. Does it hurt more because it started so well? I cannot tell you. I only know that the memory of our sweet days in Rome has been frequently in my thoughts as our calendar was approaching May 1.

She loved me. There is nothing like that: knowing that someone loves you so much.

I know I still do not lack for people that love me. I never have. But, as you all know, such a love as Heidi had for me is different. It is very affirming. It is missed.

She said, "I will." We married less than five months later. And for a little over fifteen years, we talked regularly about  how blessed we both felt to have found each other.