Sowing Good Seeds

By the time Drew entered my orbit, I had spent a hefty portion of my time on earth perfecting the art of hustling, helping, and doing without for love. Operating outside of my body was the norm back then—disassociation having come to my rescue early on as the little ‘t’ traumas (as my counselor refers to them) relentlessly popped up in my life like some possessed whac-a-mole game run by a toothless carney with Poor Jack Amusements. And as a result, I entered my first (and blessedly only) romantic courtship with a hyper-vigilant nervous system and a dogeared playbook for conditional love.


I can still remember Mrs. Cameron busting my chops in the corner of her classroom near the end of the first JCL event that occurred after Drew and I had become ‘companions.’ Glaring at me over her half-rim readers, she chastised me for blatantly avoiding Drew during the soirée—opting instead to stick with the Latin scholars from my own grade (Pink Pets forever). My decision had left Drew (then, by his own admission a goner) looking like a confused Pound Puppy watching longingly from across the classroom. She clearly knew he was the real deal, and didn’t want me doing to his heart what I had done to her lesson plans since Latin 1. Truthfully, I had been a bit of a handful for her—and I realize now it was definitely a classic case of projection stemming from the fact that her husband, Officer Bill, never once picked me to hold Toby the dang D.A.R.E. bear in Mrs. Ashenfelter’s fifth grade class at C.D.


I remember the burning shame that traveled rapidly down my body as she scolded me. As I watched her mouth move, my mind assessed the situation—alarm bells had been ringing off the hook since Drew expressed that he did, indeed, dig me. The sirens became even more deafening when my brain tried to make sense of the fact that he didn’t seem to expect me to jump through hoops to prove myself worthy of his attention and affection. Umm, WTAF?! Danger, Will Robinson!! I was broken and unlovable, yo! Drew was wicked smart—there was no way in heck the same guy that Jeff Heitz would place at the top of the class could actually be stumped by this ‘brain-buster.’ It just didn’t make no good sense.


Instead of heading for the hills, this crazy cat with a baby face and a Corsica hatchback appeared hellbent on offering me a love that was safe, steady, patient, and forgiving—no strings attached. Furthermore, he didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the fact that I believed myself to be utterly undeserving of such devotion. So, when he made the decision to attend BGSU in the fall of 1997, I fully appreciated (and echoed) the confusion and concern expressed by members of his family re: the sudden attractiveness of a school that had never been on his radar. I agreed with them. This was risky business—all for a girl like me. Drew, though, was resolute in his decision and unbothered by the backlash.


Having assessed the dynamics of my enmeshed family sitch, he had used his big brain to infer that I was in it DEEP—and consequently would never travel far from home when my turn came to choose a college the following fall. He decided that positioning himself twenty-five miles to the east of West Barnes was his best bet to keep a good thang going. He was right, obvi—the next county over was about as far as this chick was ever going to stray from her home and responsibilities.


Faithfully, he was there in the fall of 1998, grinning like the cat that got the cream as he helped me move into the fourth floor of Kreisher Darrow. And he was there a year later when my mom’s brain tumor, no longer content to just chill in a dormant state, became large and angry—refusing to be ignored. He was most definitely there in the dark, heavy, scary, and sad days, months, and years that followed as her body, mind, and spirit were decimated. Heck, he was there afterward, as I forfeited another decade of my precious life searching for my worth outside of myself—giving the best parts of my energy and light to those who made me work for it. He’s always been there.


Today, on our nineteenth wedding anniversary—and at the two-year mark of my healing journey, I am here to tell you, on everything, the only thing sweeter and more perfect than being loved and supported by Drew Miller for nearly a quarter of a century, is to FINALLY know deep in my bones that I deserve it all.