The Night We Met: A 90s Love Story and Healing After Loss

The night we met in 1996.

It was the 90’s.  It doesn’t sound like it was that long ago, but when I say July 13, 1996 and now it is 2025 (29 years!) then it feels like a long time ago.

It was the time before everyone had cell phones. It was becoming a thing, but they were nothing like today’s smart phones. And so, this is the beginning of the journey of sharing our story, my grief and my healing.

It was a Saturday afternoon when a friend of mine called me up and said, “let’s go to a party with ‘older’ guys!”  Older meant men in their early to mid 20’s. I was 19.  I remember standing in my bedroom, next to my twin bed, and saying to myself, “I’m going to meet a nice guy tonight!”

And you know what? I did. Boy, did I! I met the nicest guy.  See, I was dating another guy at the time, but things weren’t going well.  In fact, earlier that day, he called to tell me he was seeing other people.  That turned out to be a good thing.

It’s a strange thing to be writing about this, because Bill and I spoke about the night we met so many times.  Even now, I feel like I can talk to him about it, but reality kicks in and I remember, he’s not here.  He lives in my heart and memories. (He is currently living with Jesus now) This is my first time writing about this without him, without being able to talk with him about the night we met.

The Moment our Eyes Met

We walked into the house.  The party was kind of slow.  There were some guys sitting in the living room when we came in, but we nervously went straight to the kitchen.  Bill always claimed he was sitting in the living room when he saw me come in, but I don’t remember seeing him.  We walked through that room pretty quickly.

When we got to the kitchen, my girlfriends and I were standing together, leaning against the counter.  Bill later explained that he and the guys said, “What are we doing in here? All the girls are in the kitchen!” So they all filed in a line, introduced themselves and shook our hands.

And THIS is why I’m telling this story in detail. THIS is why I remember it so dearly. THIS is the moment I first looked at him. His eyes met mine, and mine met his. We both looked away and then looked at each other again.

A Love Story that Grew Into a Marriage

That moment was the moment I met Bill.  Years later,  I realized that even though we didn’t know it then, God knew it. Our spirits knew we were meant to be together, that’s why our eyes met a second time.

I will never forget looking at his big brown eyes and the warmth I felt from his beautiful face.  To me he was and will always be beautiful, because Bill was the sweetest, most gracious man I have ever known. I was sincerely blessed to meet him that night and call him my husband for 22 years.

That night marked knowing this precious man for 26 years.   Losing him on this earth was excruciating. We grew up together.  He was only 23.

We spent the rest of the evening talking and even took a ride together to Winn Dixie to pick up more orange juice for everyone to make drinks.  We realized our families both lived in the same community in our city.   My dad was a home builder and had just built his model home in that neighborhood. My family would move there a couple of months later. Bill was living with his parents temporarily until he moved into his own apartment.

His family’s home and my family’s future home were just a couple of streets apart. In fact, his parents still live there. Sadly, my parents had to move away, but that’s another story.

Life, Loss, and Healing Through Memories
As I’m writing this, I’m coming to realize how much joy this is giving me.  This is healing for my soul.  And I believe I will dedicate this entire adventure to him and our precious daughter, who we were blessed to meet in 2001, after being married for only 16 months.

But that’s another story. One among so many, I look forward to sharing.

This is the 90’s love story, the night we met.  If you’ve read this, thank you.  If you have experienced loss, whether long ago or recently, I encourage you to write about it.  Journal it.  Document it.  May you find in your story what I’ve found in mine: that even in loss, love always leaves us with something to hold on to.

Until next time, Lost. Loved. Found

Xoxoxoxo