Love

The Day He Proposed


The day he proposed, we wandered the lavender fields in Sequim, enchanted by the low hum of bumbling bees and the heated scent of dirt and summer and lavender permeating the air.

We picked handfuls of flowers, which sat in the car and filled the heated interior with their delightful spicy scent as we drove from one field to the other, enchanted by the vibrant colors and uniform beauty.




We walked along a cliffside path beneath the hot summer sun, staring out over the sea into the hazy distance, watching the waves crash upon the shore as a lone deer drank from the ocean.

And as I stared out into the hazy blue, he put his arms around me, rested his head against mine, opened a small wooden box, and whispered “Will you marry me?”

I stared at the sapphire surrounded by sparkling diamonds, and said “Are you serious?”

With amusement in his voice, he responded, “Yeah.”

In shock and awe, I said “Is this for real?”

Chuckling this time, he again repeated, “yeah.”

And, finally, I said yes. I didn’t cry when he proposed, nor when we talked about a tentative date, nor when I called my family and close friends to tell them the news. It was not until eight hours later when I was alone on my bed, flipping through a wedding magazine and suddenly the tears and the laughter came. I sat there with my face covered repeating to myself “I’m going to get married!”

And on December 8, 2012, one day less than a year after our very first date, I am going to marry my best friend and the love of my life. Now, as we register for things, discuss wedding decorations, listen to possible ceremony songs, I feel waves of overwhelming joy and I cry every time.  I think I’ll probably cry every day for the next four months.

I’m getting married!

 

 

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