Sunday, April 29, 2012

The story

This is the first moment I've been able to take a deep breath in... well... 6 months. Meeting Isaac has been the most unexpected, amazing adventure of my life. And I finally feel like writing about it.

Here's the story:

A mutual friend introduced us at a coffee shop. Isaac was helping out with an independent BYU newspaper (The Student Review) and I was thinking of trying to get a piece published in it-something about sports and religion getting all tangled up. We talked for an hour. I remember what we both wore. I learned later it's not uncommon for Isaac to talk an hour with a new friend. A few days later we ran into one another at a party. Although I don't remember doing so, Isaac says I gave him some special attention even though I was on a date. A week of casual run-ins later was our first date, a Brian Kershisnik concert. A day later, our first kiss in the first snowfall of the year. 

Since then we haven't spent a chosen day apart. 

It was strange how naturally it all happened. Immediately it was a well-duh sort of thing. We knew we'd be married within several weeks (I even proposed.... but I'll save that story for another post when this blog needs some good humor). 

A few months in we began together the long journey that Isaac started many years ago-that is the path to becoming a doctor-we filled out secondaries. We learned each other's planning styles quickly and we started to think about what next year would mean for us if Isaac went away to med school. Winter semester this year was a whirl wind of activism and then acceptance to University of Illinois Medical School and an engagement in one week! 

So here we are, planning a wedding and a move across the country in the next few months.

Those are the facts, but I wanted to share something else today, something more personal. I wrote this a few weeks after we'd met:


We only get these moments once, and it's times like these that I curse my human memory. So a few notes on our first weeks together, our first explorations into one another.

We kissed in the first snow of the season. He had put me delicately in the car, the way he always does. He walked a few steps away and then came back quickly, opened the door and told me to get out. He took my head in his hands and kissed me. It was the kind of kiss that literally takes breath out of your lungs. Since then the unknowable magic of lost breath in the closeness of two mouths has been deconstructed into scientific theory by him. The exchange of carbon dioxide and the literal need to sometimes "come up for air". But somehow the science of it makes it more beautiful, more amazing, and even more unknowable.

It has been a whirl wind romance. The kind where 9 hours apart starts to seem impossible.

He told me he believes in my soul. He told me he was isolated before this.

I told him my truth. and somehow, I wasn't at an interview- yet I continue to give him the best bits of me and let him hold me when the worst bits work their way to the surface.

He began putting me to bed each night as I dwindled into drug induced sleep and holding me until I wouldn't know he had left.

We did yoga on mats and held hands in savasana. Because that is sacred healing space and so are We.

I remember the moment we became "we", in his bed, late on a Monday. I want to hold the space for him to continue to discover his humanity, and oh, how that humanity elicits dramatic sensations of awe.

Together we talk about the human body and its soul and how the lines get blurred between physical, emotional, spiritual and intellectual truth. We are truth and knowledge seekers. and there are moments where our bodies seem incapable of expressing what our mouths can barely begin to touch.

it surpasses eroticism, it transcends physical pleasure. instead it is... it is... safe.

He showed me the cadaver lab-this time an unexplainable loss of breath; the corpse had eyelashes. his knowledge of science and my knowledge of movement brought to life a dead man and an hour disappeared.

He turned into a little boy with an encyclopedia again.

Then there was the afternoon in the sun. His south facing window has a partial roof outside it conducive to lying in the sun on the solitary warm afternoon in a Utah November. Hours of theology and how that equates to reality, the importance of ritual and community, and more.

last night he said "Kelsey, you are the best thing in my life". and rather than stroke an ego or flounder for beauty it came simply, "I feel the same way, Isaac."

sometimes he will put his ear or his lips to my womb and hold my hips with his strong hands. and it's those moments that I know that I am full of life. and this is life. and what else is there?

I'm not sure how I'll handle this blogging thing, but for the update type thing on Isaac and I's life, you can go here.  I am hoping to keep this space for myself and the processing I will continue to do.


  1. That was incredibly, beautifully written Kels.

    You've made me more emotional than I can express. It's not a good day for me, but it is... softening to my soul to see you touch so much emotion with such a rapid fire collection of words on a page. More meaningful as each moment passes.

  2. it's gorgeous and intimate and in my current state makes me sad - but it also makes me so happy for the plural You, but really just happier for the singular You.

  3. I finally read this as I have been wanting to for a long time, and didn't get the chance. Now I am in tears. I love this more than anything. You both are loved and will always be remember you both walking into the hospital while I was on my death bed. You both have so much love to give. I am so grateful for the time that we had at the studio when you taught me many things. I love you Kels. I am so happy for you both!


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