So it should be clear by now that the night that everything changed between Jevo and me, I was overall ambivalent, fresh from an intense effort at putting my marriage somewhere less tangible and pressing, and living with all these rules designed to protect my son and myself. I was o.k. and not o.k., feeling as if I was on the precipice of either something really good, or something really terrible.

I have carried over the last (almost) year a sense of shock about the way everything changed. Shock over the fact that anything even happened between us. Shock that whatever happened was seismic enough to affect us both and lead us right to each other, and neither had a clue that the other felt the same until the day it all exploded between us a second time and we confessed our feelings. Shock at how wonderful it was to see him in this way, how very sweet the possibility of him and me seemed. Shock at finding myself feeling like I could trust him and let him in. Shock at the ways my life has changed, the ways I have changed. Shock, shock, shock. The reasons have been plenty, and seemingly endless, because I'm still shocked.

I think that for me the deepest shock was rooted in this: despite my rules and fears and sadness and worries and the general uncertainty I felt about this aspect of my life, when everything happened between us - the day weeks later when he made his move and told me he wanted to be with me – I didn’t hesitate; I was right there with him. I wanted it. Actually, I wanted him. It wasn't the "it" - companionship, affection, arm candy, distraction - it was him. I wanted his sense of humor, his intelligence, his thoughtfulness, his kindness, his nerdiness. I wanted to talk to him every day. I wanted his smile to shine on me, because of me, and his eyes to light up with excitement at the sight of me.

And yet, the weeks leading to that day had been emotionally crazy. I was freaked out at finding myself seeing him that way now, and miserable at how certain those feelings felt. I was convinced that he did not feel the same, and I knew that for the sake of such a good friendship, I would never betray a thing and would carry on as always (I am almost always 100% aware of my feelings, which I think enables me to control them however I think I need to). I was so deep into my own shit that I never considered that he might have feelings for me or might want to pursue something with me. I mean, why would he?

So when everything changed, I really couldn’t believe how right it felt, how there was this part of me that felt with complete certainty that this made total sense; we made total sense. Whatever general fears and concerns I'd had, the moment we became a couple (because it was like that - one minute we were friends and the next we were a full-on couple), I was in.

When we decided to be together, it was from the beginning with every intention of making it last. There was no game-playing, no "do I really want to do this?" about it or us. We were certain; we knew. As I've mentioned, the day after everything exploded between us for the second time, I brought Max up. He told me then that he knew what he was doing, that he wanted to be with me and all I came with. And if I'm honest and separate reality from my own issues and fears, the truth is that from that moment, he's approached Max and his potential role as a step-father from the standpoint of, "I have much to learn and get used to and I'm open to it all," and never from a place where running off was an option. And when I've asked him about that, about the probability of him running off because both Max and I are too overwhelming, he's just looked at me like I'm insane and told me that all he wants is to be with me, and by extension, Max.

I wasn't prepared for my life to change so completely and so decisively. We've taken a lot of things slowly and have been very thoughtful about the steps we've taken so far; but at the same time, the force of our feelings created, early on, a real commitment. And there's been something about him and us that has made the changes feel right and good every step of the way. And through it all, I've found my strength in him. When I've felt scared, or worried, or pessimistic, he's given me the space to feel these things and has let me talk ad nauseum about them. At the same time, he's been sure and steady and soothing; he's been everything I couldn't be and then some. He's used his reason and logic to guide me and his warmth and love to comfort me. He's made everything feel right and all right.

I tell him often that he's been such a wonderful surprise, that I look at him and all we've shared as a gift to be cherished. My experiences have taught me to stay in the here-and-now as best as possible and to hold it close and cherish it. And I do. I don't dare hope for more than what I have right this second, for more than making it from one day to the next; everything we have today could easily be gone tomorrow. All I've been through has left me with the very strong sense of this indelible sadness, an undercurrent that flows through and in everything. It seems to me that I love him in equal measure to the pain I've known, and that that very pain enhances the intensity of my love for him. I don't know that I'll ever again know any "good" emotion in its pureness, but that makes me appreciate them more.

As we approach one year - just one year - together, we are surprised by how swiftly and crazily our lives have changed, and amazed that we have a second chance at happiness and love and all the things - family, adventures, warmth, a home - we each wanted. I am keenly aware that none of this would exist without him; this is in every way about him: his strength, his fearlessness, his kindness, his steadfastness, his love that he gives without reservations. He is a vital reason that today I feel new, transformed.

For this, I am infinitely grateful.

Looking over the months leading to the moment everything changed between Jevo and me, there was this other part, too, the part where I had been trying to move past my marriage and my (ex)husband. That can't be ignored here. Last May (May being a pivotal month for me, and you’ll understand why further down), my marriage was still very much a factor in my life, as this is THE thing I’ve had to grieve, let go of, heal from and find some place for. Whatever problems we had and however stressful and unhappy the marriage had become, my feelings for my former husband and my commitment to our life together were real and large and deep. I didn’t want it to end, even though I was prepared to walk away if the change I very badly needed could not be had. It was an unnerving, sad thing to unravel a life and conclude it maybe was for the best, and at the same time feel, every single day, my heart caving in. And that was a feeling I kept living over and over again, in waves, this immense sense of loss that seemed bigger than anything I could contain. It's much too complicated to summarize all this here. The point is that a few months before the night that changed everything between my boyfriend and me, I was still struggling with the love and anger and sadness and disbelief I felt for/about my ex.

(One thing I should note about my feelings: I never looked at my marriage or my ex as something/one I had to "get over" in the traditional sense. I did not believe that something as big as that relationship could be gotten over, and in some ways, I almost didn't want to. I didn't want to erase him or it; I didn't want to act like it didn't matter or deny my feelings, not the ones about my love for him, and not the ones about my relief at being able to breathe again when it was over. I didn't want to rush through my feelings because I never really considered that they'd go anywhere; I figured it was all about learning to live without, learning to redefine, learning to make new discoveries and start fresh. From the time I sensed we would end, I just assumed that my task was to find a place for everything, not a "get over," but a "find a new home." I was comfortable with these feelings, they felt natural.)

And then (in May), there was the incident with Sue, and that was the point where everything changed. That situation and everything about it was ultimately the bucket of cold water I needed thrown on me for me to open my eyes and clear my head. Just like that - a choice on his part, the way he (did not) handle it, what it said about him and whatever respect and connection I thought he had for/to me, my own intense reaction to it - it all put the final nails on the coffin, and I was done. That's it, really: I was done.

That experience gave me the big push I needed to really move forward. Actually, at the same time this happened, I confirmed (because I had already sensed it) that he had entered into what was described as (and as he later informed me) a serious relationship. So really, confronting both things was what really helped me move forward.

(About the girlfriend, I will only say this: because I had already pretty much guessed this a few weeks before I confirmed it, I was not shocked or devastated or anything. But as I let the fact sink in, it certainly brought up a lot of questions and feelings. I think it was all typical stuff that women in a similar situation go through, but the big thing for me was this: he chose someone. That meant he had feelings for this person and was building a life with them, and all that removed me further still from him and the life we shared. Even if reconciliation was not an option, this kind of thing still hurts. By the time he told me news himself two months later, I had already been dealing with these feelings and accepted it and kept pushing forward.)

This is the thing about those two things: it was like I had nowhere else to go; there were no more questions, no need for answers, and the best choice - the only choice - was to seal the door and not look back. I ultimately came to believe that those two things happened as they did because the universe felt that I needed them to happen that way so that I could have my eyes opened to some deeper truths about him and me and our relationship. I had lessons to learn and decisions to make, and that wouldn't have happened with things that hurt less deeply. And so, after a wretched couple of weeks of spontaneous, uncontrollable crying and feeling quite crappy, I took stock of the lessons I’d learned from these experiences and made some concrete decisions. I put myself in the place, in the frame of mind, that I needed to be in to just really and truly move forward. And I forced myself to move forward.

And so, by the night that everything changed with the one person I least thought anything would happen with, I'd had some time to deal and heal. I'd been working very hard to accept my feelings and work through them. I felt good about my progress. Even so, I wasn't thinking about being in a relationship, not anything real and serious, anyway. Because I'd dipped my foot in the dating pool by then, I was actually even more ambivalent about that part of my life. I thought a lot about all these rules I'd set for myself, about my need to protect Max (as Part 3 will get into), and I just didn't think a real relationship would be a good idea. It seemed like that would complicate a life I was just settling into.

The night that everything changed, none of this really came into play just yet. We'd crossed a line and were spooked by it, but we were not in a relationship. In fact, we had explicitly agreed that we valued our friendship a great deal and that we should pick up where we'd left off before that night. And we did; it was pretty remarkable how we continued as we'd been before, communicating as always, hanging out as usual, with nothing in-between us. Almost nothing, anyway.

The tide had turned. Something in me had been significantly affected by him. I was confused and worried and a bit miserable.

But before we can get to the one who changed everything, we have to cover the one who is everything.