So we met, Ken and I, everything turned upside down, fast. And so it went, my dreaming of what it would be like to be married to an Irishman. It was a hot and heavy love affair, my family met him and we all fell in love. Head over heels. He proposed, giving me a ring my sister fashioned for us both. It was a huge fairytale world I was living in.
And aren't those are always the ones that hurt the worst when they come crashing down. And it did, crash. Heartbroken. This would all happen just 8 months before my mom would leave – 10 years ago next week. Wow, wowwowowwow. Its a little heartbreaking and surreal just typing that. Pondering that.
So the breakup happened and like any good breakup in your dramatic mid to late twenties, I listened to breakup music, was self deprecating, drank WAY too much (Guinness and whiskey of course), lost a ton of weight, had a rebound relationship (which I would come to repent of and repair later) and generally spun out of control. Then mom left. The pain, the deep fat valley of pain seemed beyond what I could ever live through. Sometimes I just sit back and marvel and how I got through, who was there to help me get through, and the sheer awesome-ness of God who I swear was cheering me on while I was cursing at Her/Him.
It was a bit after St. Patty's Day in 1999, still in a stupor, that the next Irish boy would come along and make my heart believe and dream, would drink with me, and hold me tight in my most crazy dark tear filled confused nights. He was a Monahan (we think the family dropped the 'g' coming through, County Monaghan, Ireland). And he loved me somethin' awful.