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“We were just kids when we fell in love. Not knowing what it was. I will not give you up this time.”

Perfect, Ed Sheeran

One of the best parts about growing up in the 80’s and 90’s was the music. The bigger the hair, the more I loved the band and their terribly sad love ballads. Guns ‘N Roses taught us that we just needed a little patience. Poison reminded us that, in love and life, every rose does indeed have its thorn. Bon Jovi said not only would he live and die for us, but he would always be there for us. And, after a break up, Cinderella brought us to tears as they reminded us that you really don’t know what you got till it’s gone. Even today, I could make a whole playlist from that era and be inexplicably happy listening to it on repeat. Looking back now, these songs could be a soundtrack to the story of my first love.

In 1991, my brother, who was a senior, had told me about this guy who moved to Barnsdall from back East. I could not, for the life of me, figure out why anyone would relocate to this tiny town from someplace as fancy and intriguing as Coatesville, Pennsylvania. But here he was—or so I’d heard from my brother. I could not wait for the first day of school so I could see the new guy.

When the day came, I and my frizzy, downright unmanageable hair were standing in the lobby of the school wearing an oversized Polo, high-waisted jean shorts, and my Doc Marten sandals. I was talking and laughing with my friends, minding my own business, when this guy, a healthy mixture of confidence and cockiness, came strolling across the room. With his curly mullet and wired-rimmed glasses, his white jeans and Buffalo Bills shirt, I was quite certain he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen. He was laughing and joking with someone I couldn’t see and wasn’t paying attention to me at all. Then he turned my way, marched over and said, quite loudly, “Are you related to Mary Cox?”

“Um…I think so. I’m not sure,” I said, nervous and unsure of myself.

“Then we’re cousins!”  He said, then spun around and left.

Talk about crushing my hopes in less than a minute. I was appalled! I’d just met the love of my life and he told me we were related. (Insert dramatic crying fit. Probably not, but I know I was upset.) As soon as my mom got home from work that evening, I cleared up that misunderstanding real quick! His Aunt Mary was simply friends with my grandparents. No relation. End of story.

Let the crush on the new boy commence. He dated a few people that year, but none of them were me. Honestly, I never even thought he would like me, but towards the end of the year, we finally started talking.

Have you ever been running as hard and fast as you can and then suddenly, you faceplant? It’s so painful, but later it’s funny, and you know you’ll remember it for the rest of your life. Well, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened to me. I took my chance with him and ran with it. I was only 14, but I fell hard for that boy.

We hung out for the last month of school. He had become best friends with my cousin who conveniently lived on our family ranch about a mile from me. We spent a lot of time there watching movies and swimming and when we weren’t together, we talked on the phone. On a landline. All the while, I fell harder and harder.

There was just one catch. One giant red flag that may as well have been a flashing neon sign that read “Run away! You’re going to get your heart broken!”

He wouldn’t ask me to be his girlfriend because he had a girl waiting for him back East. (Back east—sounds so fancy.) He would be leaving Memorial Day weekend to go spend a month in Pennsylvania with his best friend. And this other girl.

I kept thinking he would change his mind. That he would decide he liked me better. But Memorial Day came, and he reminded me about her. So that was the end of it—before it ever really began.

I cried for days, until my mom finally told me enough was enough. I mean, I hadn’t even known him that long, right?

The month he was gone came and went in a blur. He came back and we were both at my cousin’s house for their annual 4^th of July bash. I was excited and nervous because I wasn’t sure what to expect, but we ended up kissing that night and never looked back.

Not for a while any way.

Around the time school started, he asked me to be his girlfriend. Other girls were jealous, which was equally satisfying and miserable for me. (I could probably write a whole different story on that alone, but I won’t.) He quickly became a star football player and I followed him to all the games. They were really good that year. (To this day, he could still tell stories about plays, touchdowns, wins, and losses, but this is my story and I don’t remember.)

We went to the Tulsa State Fair together and had a caricature drawn to commemorate the evening. We both loved and hated it because the guy had drawn his ears (and my boobs) entirely too big. That memory still makes me laugh.

At Christmas, he gave me a ring. Not a promise ring or anything like that. Just a simple gold ring with a heart shape. The heart was half diamonds and emeralds (because I loved the color green back then) and I’ll never forget what it looked like. I loved it.

Then, like many young romances, it came to another end.

Sometime in January, I broke up with him because I thought I liked someone else (And, shockingly, I wasn’t ready for a lifetime commitment.) But I lied to him and told him I didn’t want a boyfriend.

I broke his heart. Then I thought he hated me and he probably did.

He moved on and eventually got engaged to his other high school girlfriend. They went to college together, but broke up not long after they got there. I already had plans to go to the same school, but then I found out they broke up. (I never believed I intentionally followed him there, but maybe I did.) I wrote him a letter asking for another chance, but I never heard from him. (He would tell me later that he never got the letter.)

By the time I got to college, he had already moved on again. So…I did, too. I dated a few guys, but nothing serious. I was mostly focused on school and partying with my friends.

Then, I ran into him in the summer of ’97. He and his girlfriend had broken up. That night, he ended up at a party at my house. It was fun hanging out, but I kept my distance. I think I was afraid to get my heart broken again. I fell asleep on the couch. He left before I woke up. Next thing I knew, he and his girlfriend were back together. Broken heart (somewhat) avoided.

After that, we lived in the same apartment complex. So close that I could look out my front door and see his, but we never hung out. We never even talked again that I can remember.

Later that fall, I became pregnant with my oldest daughter. Many of you know that part of my story. An interesting twist is that Chad was working at El Chico at the time. The bartender there told Chad that he’d just found out his girlfriend was pregnant. Chad teased him and made fun of him like guys do, but he had no idea that I was the girlfriend until much later. (Years later, when I’d tell him everything that happened during that time, well…that might be the first time I saw an ever so slight glistening in his eye. Knowing we were right there together the whole time, but still so far apart. I’m tearing up a little writing it now.)

Then sometime during all of this, like a final nail in the coffin telling me all chances were gone, I found out he was getting married.

He continued moving on. So I did, too.

I am purposely leaving out a lot of details of the next 20 years, but I will say this. No matter what situation you find yourself in, no matter how a piece of you longs for the past and what should be forgotten, life moves forward. Without hesitation, giving no regard to your memories, your feelings, or your shoulda-coulda-wouldas. Memories remain just that—memories—and life moves relentlessly forward. You move on and do your best to make your life mean something. In the moment, you do what you have to do because it’s the right thing to do, but, sadly, even the right things sometimes go wrong.

Eight years ago, Chad and I reconnected at Bigheart Day, Barnsdall’s annual town celebration. We spent hours catching up that evening and, as great as that time had been, our reality was not. We were both going through some stuff and life was all kinds of messy. He was divorced and I was going through one. We were both broken; both needed to heal. I think he told me he wasn’t sure he had anything to give me or if this would go anywhere. I told him I wasn’t sure, either, but if there was even a chance we could work out, I was willing to take it. One day at a time. We were both ok with that.

He stayed and so did I.

When we reconnected, I was pretty sure about one thing I’d held onto over the years. After a few hours of searching at my mom’s, I found it in the furthest corner of the attic. Wrapped in a trash bag, protected for all those years, (Thank you, Mom) was the caricature we’d had drawn at the Tulsa State Fair in 1992.

What I did not expect to find was the letter he wrote me after I broke up with him in ‘93. Within that letter, he wrote this quote, probably hoping we would get back together soon after. Definitely not knowing if our story would ever come full circle.

“If you love something very much, let it go. If it never comes back, it was never yours. If it comes back, love it forever.”

We have no regrets because we know everything that happened to us while we were apart for those 20 years made us better for each other today. We didn’t start our family together, but we have 5 amazing kids we get to raise together. We have an ordinary life, but doing life together is extraordinary and something we never thought would happen.

Chad— Thanks for (almost) forgiving me for dumping you 27 years ago.

I will not give you up this time.

I love you and I’m thankful for our story.