September 16th, 2010 | 8 comments | Skydiving

Have you ever been in love? Are you currently?

If so, keep reading. If not, keep reading.

Looking back on the people I’ve dated, the guys I’ve called my “boyfriend,” and the ones that have mattered enough to make it past a couple dates, I can say that I’ve been in love, for better or for worse, three times. I say for better or for worse because at the time I was madly in love, but looking back, I struggle to believe that I was. For each one, what defined the love at the time was different.

Now there are four times.

I’m not getting into specifics because I promised myself I’d never write about boyfriends on here. In fact, I’ve almost-clicked “publish” about ten times before actually doing so. I promised myself that I would always cover up the lovey-dovey posts with a metaphor, some kind of disguise so if they are regular readers, they know the post is about them but my audience doesn’t, and if they aren’t, but they stumble upon this gem, they might get it.

I’m sitting in room 115 at a hospital in Colorado and I can honestly say I’ve never felt anything remotely close to what I am feeling right now.

Without getting into too much detail, I woke up at 5:00 this morning to him wincing more than he usually does. Three months ago he had a hard opening (when the parachute opens too fast or uneven or otherwise shakes you up pretty good as it inflates) and he’s been sore and achy and sometimes in lots of pain ever since. It’s rough in the morning, but it (the pain) usually sorts itself out after he goes outside with the dog. After a day with a lot of jumps, he’s usually pretty beat. This time, he said he couldn’t handle the pain anymore. That he needed to go to the hospital.

I’ve done the “take someone you love” to the hospital thing before, though, in that case, that someone was my dad. We bonded after that. I’ve changed the gauze in my mom’s mouth after she had her surgery to remove the cancer from her tongue and have it grafted. I’ve played nurse. I’m good at it, you know, as much as someone with no medical training whatsoever can be.

I haven’t, however, had such a moment of clarity with anyone I’ve ever dated. We don’t even call it dating. We’re undefined. We’re both all-too-aware that as soon as you (we) put a label on something, it usually loses the magic that it has when it’s not labeled. We had a moment with the nurse and the neurosurgeon when they asked if we were married or dating. Silence from both of us. We don’t put a label on it. We just are. And that’s a different post for a different day, maybe.

Back to the moment, right.

So I’m sitting in the ER room with him, and his nurse is giving him a third round of pain medicine to try to get the shooting pain and excruciating waves of pure torture under control. Meanwhile, he’s spouting off what he wants me to work on in the wind tunnel today.

It hit me: holy shit I love him. I mean, I knew I did, but this is so much different than anything I’ve ever felt before.

Remember, the wind tunnel? The reason we’re here? Right. My long-awaited (and much needed) vacation time for being selected for the No Boundaries program at work. The plan was go to Nationals, learn a lot, go to the tunnel, learn even more, and have a whole week full of skydiving goodness.

Then life happened.

That was my moment of clarity. When I was sitting in the corner of the ER room and he’s talking about my fall rate and working on turns while he’s in the most pain he’s ever experienced in his entire life. He’s been telling me he’ll be fine (I know he will be) and to go to the tunnel (he’s been telling me to go all day) and I keep putting it off.

“I’ll go when you get back from your MRI.”

He got his MRI.

“I’ll go when you talk to the doctor about the MRI.”

We’ve talked to the doctor, albeit briefly.

“I’ll go when you get to your room upstairs.”

I’m sitting in his room.

“I’ll go when you talk to the neurosurgeon, when you know if you’re getting surgery or at least know next steps.”

We just talked to the doctor. But I’m still not sold on going anywhere.

Thing of it is, I could give two shits about the wind tunnel. Yes, we drove 16 hours from Chicago to fly in the tunnel. Yes, I almost maxed out my last credit card for the tunnel time certificates. Yes, I would love to go back to CSC with 30 minutes in the tunnel under my belt and (hopefully) be in a better place, skill wise, than I was last time I jumped.

But none of that matters. Not right now. We made it through that 16-hour drive because he stayed up with me to make sure I was safe and awake while our other passengers were sleeping in the back seat. I know if I was in his position I wouldn’t want anyone to be with me against their will, but I sure as shit would hope that someone would care enough about me to be with me, especially if I was in his situation in a city that I don’t live in, like he is today.

So that, to me, right now, with him, is what love is. Him ignoring the pain and telling me how I can be a better skydiver. Me ignoring his requests for me to go ahead and go fly in the tunnel, and then giving in because he wants me to go “for him.”

So, what is love to you? Have you ever had a “holy shit I love this guy/girl” moment? What was it?