The firewood was damp. The campfire was smoking. “Will you marry me? Mary Rose asked. Knowing full well I had vowed to never marry again after the dreadful time I went through parting from my ex-husband.
We were camping in a glade outside Quebec City. The two mountain bikes looked ridiculous on the rack atop MR’s tiny old Toyota, but they traveled well up there, and we loved the sport. The trail system was great and we’d had some incredible rides.
Marriage, I thought? It was August 1991. We couldn’t legally marry, and Civil Unions wouldn’t be on the horizon until the new century. But I loved her. When I recovered from the shock, I said yes.
We drove into town and found a jeweler who made us a matching set of square wedding rings. Square, but with slightly rounded corners. Silently, I vowed to love her until we’d rounded off those corners
Returning to our damp firewood we started another smoky and recalcitrant Fire. Neither of us was a Quaker, but we held a sort of quaker meeting. Speaking as the spirit moved us. We said our own quiet and personal vows. Promises of love, respect, support, and care. All spiced with joy and laughter.
Despite our vows, we didn’t wear those rings for the rest of our lifetimes. The external pressures of society, careers, and families took great chunks out of our resolve. Our internalized homophobia and self-hate required years of work in various types of therapy.
I sometimes wonder if we had made those vows to each other in front of our assembled family and friends, if we’d have had a better chance of survival. Intentions held in secret can so easily go up in smoke.
But to spend the rest of my lifetime with MR is what I wanted… Instead, I spent the rest of her lifetime with her.
We began dating in August 1990, and shared our lives together as “married” lovers just four years before we agreed that it made sense to remove those rings. But we remained First Best Friends until the pancreatic cancer took her off the planet at the end of 2012. Do you know the schoolyard concept of FBF? I know BFF is the acronym du jour, but back when we were children, (little proto-lesbians) the class of little girls sorted themselves out in terms of first and second best friends. My earliest heartbreak was finding my FBF thought of me as her second best. Just devastating.
Over the next eighteen years I partnered with five other women, but through it all MR remained my first best friend, and they just had to cope with the fact that I had this powerful woman in my life. She was my champion. The vow we made in the 90’s to love and respect each other remained in force for the rest of her life. We were no longer lovers, but in time that didn’t matter. We never did dissolve our union.
Would my subsequent relationships have thrived if MR was out of the picture? I don’t know, and it’s irrelevant. I needed her in my life and she needed me, despite our subsequent pairings. I became who I am because of that relationship.
By choice, I've been a solo traveler since Mary Rose died. It felt like the most authentic way I could spend the rest of my life. I'm lucky. I once had the love of my life, and I had her in my world for twenty-two years.
After I retired I spent a year alone on the road in an RV getting to know myself, in an authentic way. Solo traveling is the way for me to go forward. I know now I will never again vow to share my life with another. I am blessed to have had a first best friend. Anyone else at this point would be second best.
