The Train to Crazy Town, Part I

His name was Andy. Our first date was the night my mom was admitted to the ER. It was also two nights after I had returned from the UK. He was one of the sweetest men I had ever met. When I got the call about my mom and told him that I was going to need to leave a bit early, he could see how upset I was. He insisted on coming with me for the drive, and waited outside while I went in to see my mom.

When we got back, I was still very shaken. I think I knew we were nearing the end with her. He offered to stay at my apartment (on the couch) in case I got upset during the night. I took him up on the offer. It was so nice to have someone else to depend on for once.

Over the next week and a half, he came over nearly every night. We spent most of the time sitting on my front porch, talking late into the night. Some nights we drank. Some nights I drank too much. He stayed over each night--not on the couch. He was half Irish, half Indian, which made for an interesting (and sexy) accent. He talked about marriage and children, about love, about being there for me no matter what.

I am normally very guarded, and this was all exactly what scared me off from P., but at that exact moment in my life, as I was informed that my mother would soon be dying, as I had to break this news to more people than I can count (and be the one to comfort them in the process), as her health declined severely and rapidly, as my sisters and I were working out 24-hour shifts between us and being forced to make decisions about Do Not Resuscitate orders and deciding about the competence (or lack thereof) of my mom to make decisions for herself anymore, as all this and more was going on, it was what I found I needed.

When we first heard the news of Mom's cancer, the one thing that helped me through each day was the knowledge that the Big X (who of course wasn't the Big X yet) was there to support me, and always would be, through it all. And he wasn't. And I did it all for 2 1/2 years on my own. Now, at the very end, it was nice to think that maybe now, maybe this time, I wouldn't be doing it all on my own.

On Wednesday night of the second week, he was talking of all those things. He asked me to marry him. I said, "Not now, but maybe someday." I told him that things were going much faster than they should be, that I appreciated him so much and really, really liked him.

But.

But there is no way that in the few weeks we have known each other, he can know enough about me to say that he definitely wants to be with me forever. I have flaws. Many. He said he didn't care, that he knew enough about me to know that nothing would change his mind. I tested that. I gave him my blog to read. On the front page were entries about Ginny and about Goober's death. Also there was the story of my hook-up with Jake's brother.

I waited inside while he read all that and more on the porch.

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And now my arm is tired from typing due to the fact that I fell down 16 stairs today, breaking my toe, spraining my arm, and bruising a bunch of other body parts. To be continued tomorrow...