Dear CJ:

Wow, look at the date. Has it actually been 9 years? Who knew that a rush hour commute would lead us into a relationship and down the aisle as husband and wife?

Back in 2005, I wouldn’t exactly say that I had given up on finding love again, but as a 30-something divorcee with a young son, I didn’t see it on the horizon either. If my future king was out there, I figured, his arrival would be slow in coming because the man was probably in Africa. Walking. Uphill and though a sandstorm. So I didn’t expect you, a Jefferson-raised TX native, to be the one who would claim my heart.

You were unlike any man I’d ever encountered: sincere, old-school and intent on creating a true connection. We had differences in background—you spent your childhood in the country while I was raised in the Midwest—but the similarities we shared were too obvious to overlook. Both of us being the oldest of four children, both born under water signs and even having baby brothers named Michael. You introduced me to Paul Walker via the film Joy Ride, the appeal of blues music and the taste of venison, while I led you to goofball comedies, turkey bacon and the hip-hop genius of Common and The Roots.

Some couples swear that their connection was instant, an electrifying lightning-bolt revelation of ‘love of first sight,’ but that wasn’t what happened with us. The attraction was certainly there: you zoomed in on my locks, legs and chocolatey skin tone and I was drawn to your smile, shoulders and hazel-colored eyes. However, it took time to determine if the sweet southern gentleman and lifelong bachelor I was spending time with would be willing to turn in the player’s card for good while he took on possible first-time fatherhood and helped to raise another man’s son.

Speaking of Darius, I know he didn’t wasn’t the easiest child to relate to at first: if my then-eight-year-old wasn’t giving you the side-eye or sitting directly between us during dates, he outright blocked your attempts to kiss me, hold my hand or anything else. But as time passed, Darius accepted you as a part of the family and as his stepfather. He was proud to hand off the rings at our wedding and later on, owning his new title as Big Bro to our daughters Nia and Layla.

Settling into a rhythm as a couple and as a family hasn’t been, as the poet Langston Hughes once said, “a crystal stair”: I welcomed your protectiveness, but bristled at having to ‘check in.’ You embraced my strength, but didn’t always enjoy being challenged. You prefer a Netflix Night over going out, and the present ‘Saga of the Cell Phones?’ Let’s not even go there.

But in-between the inevitable conflicts, I celebrate the good in you. I am thankful for the man who insists on working overtime to keep me at home while raising the kids. I still feel giddy when you clutch my hand, kiss me as the girls giggle and call me Hot Chocolate. I appreciate how you maintain the lawn, your patience with the weekly dance classes and all the ‘Man Training 101’ lessons you bestow upon your stepson. Your love and loyalty are the glue that holds us all together when I feel this close to coming apart at the seams.

Our marriage is a work in progress, and there are still hurdles for us to overcome as partners, parents and people. No one knows what the future may hold, but what I do know for sure is that the union we’ve built is worth the struggle. As imperfect as we are, at the end of every day, I’d rather have my flawed life with you than the fairy tale with anyone else.

Love You Always,

Mrs. Calvin Jackson