The View Through a Different Lens



It was a cool Sunday morning in mid-March. The sun deceptively shone, its rays seen but not felt by its onlookers. Any warmth offered was all too quickly swept up by the lingering wintry breeze that persistently rustled through the leafless trees. We had just left church, and Matt suggested we go to a local vineyard. I was hungry and figured a glass of wine on top of an empty stomach wouldn’t bode well. Still, he persisted, telling me he had packed some cheese and crackers, stating, “It will be fine,” to which I conceded.

Thirty minutes or so later we pulled down a long dirt drive, taking in the rich sight of vines with newly sprouted buds, a promising sign of a nearing spring. Soon all would be in full bloom, succulent grapes and flashes of green leaves bursting in every direction. As we continued I noted a small and picturesque pond in the distance, its waters calm and tranquil. Nearby sat a small wooden bench positioned on a wooden deck adjacent to the pond. I wondered who had previously sat in that bench, imagining an older couple coming to sit and take in the view hand in hand year after year.

As we reached the top of the driveway I felt my eyes widen in taking in the majestic sight. A large and enchanting stone building stood before us with an attached trellis, vines elegantly hanging from above. I knew we had climbed considerably in terms of elevation, and as we exited the car I was suddenly aware that we could see for miles.

As we entered the rustic building we made our way across the room to purchase a bottle of wine, and Matt asked if I would like to go outside and walk around while we drink our wine. Feeling charmed by the warmth of the nearby fireplace, I hesitated. Still, I could see on his face that he was really up for a walk so I agreed, hoping it would be a short one.

As we made our way back outside I immediately began to regret my outfit choice earlier that morning. I closed my jean jacket as best I could against my tank top and began to parade my ballet-slippered feet across the grass. As we began walking I couldn’t help but note a large amount of goose feces sprinkled across the grass. I hopped this way and that as we made our way out in an effort to avoid soiling my now seemingly ridiculous shoes, each moment becoming more and more disgruntled.

It wasn’t long before the grumbling ensued. I was cold. And there was poop everywhere. And he needed to know it.

He just smiled and handed me his jacket, completely unbothered by my worsening attitude.

After a few more minutes of walking, he stopped and inquired if I would like some more wine. I agreed.

“Anything to warm me up!” I silently grumbled.

I quickly turned to give him my glass and to my surprise and shock instead of a wine bottle in his hands, he held up a small box. Suddenly aware he had unknowingly gotten down on one knee (and before I could pull a coherent thought together), I glanced at his glowing face, noting a smile ear-to-ear and heard him say, “Will you marry me?”

My eyes instantly widened with delight, and I felt myself put both hands over my mouth and jump three steps backward. Was this really happening? Was this really happening to me?

I suddenly felt like I was in a dream. More, I had prided myself on being a fairly good detective and generally aware of whereabouts of my partner when we were not together. When did he plan this? How did I not know?

Overjoyed, I accepted happily; and he went on to tell me that our families were going to be meeting us at a restaurant to celebrate the day.

I later learned he had met with my father to ask his permission, to which my dad happily agreed.

I had never felt more loved, cherished or excited as I did on that special day.

The following months flew by with excitement and great anticipation for our big day. I felt the cloud that had long followed me had cleared, and suddenly life was viewed through a different lens. One I had not previously seen through. This new lens was full of love and hope and giddy excitement. The kind of bursting emotions the rest of the world generally loosely tolerates when two people are newly in love.

The world, it seemed, was once again at my fingertips; and I was overjoyed to be living in it with my very best friend.

More, lupus was becoming but a distant memory.

There were days, yes, when I would stay in bed after having been out all day the day prior with him. I sometimes secretly wondered if I could keep up. Keep up with all the living there was to be done. I was bound to make it work somehow. To make the pieces fit as I believed they should.

He was careful with me, yes. Though still actively learning about the nuances of chronic disease.

The real sickness though, the months in pain and in bed were growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Perhaps I had paid my dues. Learned my lessons so to speak and put in my time. Was there such a thing?

I couldn’t be sure.

All I did know is that I had known a lot of bad days. And I was sure as heck going to hold on to these good ones for as long as they would stay.