Still Holding On

Last month, Monty and I had to get dressed up to take some family pictures for my parents’ 50^th wedding anniversary. I couldn’t find a pair of shoes to wear that were both dressy and stable. I am, to put it mildly, a clumsy person. I have broken my ankle twice just by tripping over my own feet. So I have to be careful with the shoes I choose. I had one pair I liked, but the heels were at least three inches high. I walked towards Monty in them, asking him how they looked. And I would have fallen if he hadn’t caught me.

“I can’t wear these,” I said. “I’m too unstable. I’m going to have to wear some hideous pair of ‘sensible’ shoes.”

Monty put his hand on my back and said, “Try it now. I’ve got you.”

I did. And he did. And I wore the shoes with him standing next to me.

That’s our relationship in a nutshell. Monty holds on to me. I hold on to him. And together, we can face anything.

I don’t remember my life before Monty. We met when I was seven and he was eight—we went to the same small Christian school. When we were sixteen, my parents asked Monty to help teach me to drive. (Dad had tried; it didn’t end well.) After the second time I failed my driving test, Monty and I realized the driving lessons weren’t going anywhere. But we were.

I’ve always thought that one of the most romantic scenes in all of cinematic history is the one from “The Sound of Music” with Liesl and Rolf. They get caught in the rain, dance around a gazebo, and sing to each other—“I am sixteen going on seventeen. . .” Monty and I had a different setting. We were in a Datsun that reeked of gasoline, and we weren’t singing or dancing in the rain. But we were sixteen going on seventeen, and that car became a gazebo to me. If we had sung to each other, (and in my imagination, we did) it would have gone like this, our own version of “Sixteen Going on Seventeen:”

Monty:
I look at you, your hand in mine
and hope this is forever.
But I know things change
and I would hate for our bond to be severed. . .

Me:
Not ever!

Monty:
You are sixteen going on seventeen
I know for you, it’s hard
People you meet don’t get how you think
and that’s left you feeling scarred.

You are sixteen going on seventeen;
the whole world’s ahead of you
College and writing, ideas so exciting—
everything will be new.

I worry that you aren’t ready yet
to face a world so cruel
Please take my hand and know where I stand—
I’ll never let go of you.

You need someone you can depend on
who won’t tell you what to do
You can trust me—this I promise—
I will hold on to you.

Me:
I am sixteen going on seventeen
I have so much to learn
Can you help teach me? You know how to reach me—
you’ve helped me at every turn.

I am sixteen going on seventeen
I’m scared of what lies ahead;
I’m scattered, unsteady—I don’t feel ready
I feel such a sense of dread.

You seem so logical and strong—
you’re too good to be true.
My head’s in the clouds; I’m way off the ground—
Can I depend on you?

I am sixteen going on seventeen
I’ve prayed for someone like you
Here’s my hand—don’t ever let go—
I’ve fallen in love with you

Twenty-five years ago today, Monty and I stood before God and our families and friends and vowed to love, honor, and cherish each other. Monty promised me he’d never let go of me. And he never has. Not during my struggles with mental and physical health. Not during my decade-long battle with addiction. Not in recovery or sadness or joy or grief. Monty held on to me. And now we hold on to each other. Every single day, we choose to hold on—one hand in each other’s and one hand in God’s.

In case you want to sing along. . .