I Will Wait

On this night exactly one year ago, my life took a drastic, unexpected (but hoped for) turn.

July 5, 2013

After a 4th of July spent indoors all by myself, other than the company of a cat named Miles and gorgeous goldy, Holly, I was aching to spend a night out on the town with a girlfriend. Like most Friday nights, I texted Christi to join up with me at our usual spot, The Rattle Inn. I had every intention to set up camp on that rooftop bar, have a drink, maybe (most likely) two, and watch the sun set over our magnificent city. Then, I would call it a successful night and go home around 9pm. I was tired, but content.

Then Matt texted me.

April 2012
A little back story that's not widely known. Matt and I went on our "first" first date a little over two years ago. I had had a crush on him for quite a few months, but in normal guy fashion, he took his sweet little time making a move. I remember that night, when he asked me out, as if it had just happened. Filled with awkward giddiness, I said yes and immediately felt sick to my stomach with nervousness. He wouldn't tell me what we were doing, just told me generalities on what to wear. I showed up that evening with nervous anticipation of either the night ending well or horribly awkward. He told me that the first activity on the date's agenda was kayaking. This was something I had mentioned before around friends, so the fact that he remembered or took note of it was quite impressive. My second surprise on the agenda was the viewing of "Titanic" at Alamo Drafthouse, yet another thing I had casually mentioned before in my excitement of the re-release in theaters. The night was one of my top ten nights ever and by far the best first date I had ever experienced. Even still, things didn't seem completely right. A week later, our "kind of" second date was at a BBQ he and his roommate were throwing. Another fun night was had, but it ended with my decision to just stay friends at the moment. I had the hardest time explaining it to him since my heart wanted to follow my emotions of really liking this boy, but my instincts felt the timing was off for no good, explainable reason.

Two months later, daddy died.

Things were becoming clearer for me a few months after his death. I knew Matt was a good person and felt sympathy for me during this time (I treasured the simple text he sent me that dark day containing his condolences), but I also knew that he (along with any other guy who hadn't known daddy) wouldn't truly know what to do with my strange grief. Daddy's death wasn't just about him dying, it was about so many other emotions and thoughts that occur in the child of an alcoholic; thoughts and emotions that contradict each other: relief for myself in knowing it was finally over and horrendous sadness for my loss of a father before my life truly had begun. I began to understand that gut-reaction a few months prior in saying no to a relationship. This was something I needed to close out on my own.

I stayed infatuated with this Matt Gilbert throughout the next year. Even with a couple other distractions that came and went, any time Matt came around, I was a magnet. I couldn't shake him.

As to be expected, I was filled with a flurry of butterflies once he texted me that night at the Rattle Inn. How ironic his timing of asking if anybody was up to anything that night. Of course, once I checked with my ever faithful Christi friend, I told him to join us downtown. At that moment, we both texted a few more of our friends to join up with us.

There are so many moments I can go into depth about that night. It was a hilariously fun night with our good little group (thanks to Dara and her wonderful feisty Cajun-ness). By the end of the night, it was down to me, Dara, and Matt. She so sneakily kept disappearing, forcing Matt and I to interact one-on-one. With the subtly of a Matt Gilbert, he suddenly looked me straight in the face and asked, "So, what are your intentions Ms. Montoya?"

Shock.

Fear.

Courage.

So many things ran through my head in that span of a couple seconds between his question and my answer. Honestly, I don't even remember how I answered. It happened so fast and my adrenaline was THROUGH THE ROOF. Forget butterflies in my stomach, it was a herd of elephants!

Through much debate about my hesitations (fear of rejection is really what it was), I finally conceded to my heart and went all in. I knew this was my last chance; I wouldn't get anymore after this. I couldn't keep bringing him around while holding him at arm's length distance. We would either miserably crash and burn, never being able to be friends again, or this would be the best decision of my life.

It was the latter.

July 5, 2014
In the span of a year, I have become stronger, more confident, happier, and funnier (if that was even possible). All of these things I attribute to Matt. I see his resilience and strength and am encouraged to stand up tall right next to him. He is compassionate, more-so than I ever expected. I find comfort in those moments of not being able to explain my own compassion and he is right there with me. He brings the gold out of those he interacts with. Everybody should know Matt Gilbert.

I could write for hours about the person he is and how he makes me better. Yet, words aren't even enough to describe him.


He is my best friend and more than enough inspiration to write about.

He is also a punk, but that is why he is mine.

Grief

Grief is a funny thing. It is very unpredictable, choosing to come and go as it pleases. It leaves as quickly and unexpectedly as it arrives. Just when I think I have a handle on it, another curveball is thrown my way and I realize I know very little about this thing called grief.

It’s been a year and a half since daddy died and I’m still writing about it. I know I’ll never stop processing/writing as long as I’m alive, but I hope to someday be able to venture into other topics, processes, thoughts, etc. I have a lot to say about a lot of things, but in this season, I feel the greatest urgency to write when I’m processing about daddy. There has to be a reason for that. If nothing else, I hope my words and experience(s) can encourage and bring hope to someone.

Daddy tends to show up in my dreams every now and then. He was there last night. I don’t remember very many details about the dream, but I remember the feeling of enjoying his goofy presence again with sister. I woke up missing him, but thankful for that small reminder of how it feels to hug that teddy bear of a man. I went about my morning, but as I was sitting in the awful 360 traffic, the grief instantly and unexpectedly hit me like a tidal wave. Ironically, Hillsong United’s “Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)” was playing.

“I will call upon Your name and keep my eyes above the waves when oceans rise.”

As I was attempting to sing through the lump in my throat, I felt daddy. “Brief” would be an overstatement as it was literally less than a second, faster than a blink. He was singing with me. He was worshipping with me. Then he was gone; back to being a memory and a reunion I look forward to every single day of my life. I could feel myself wanting to sink back into mourning and sadness. I just miss him so much.

Then, the “Desert Song” started playing.

“All of my life, in every season, You are still God. I have a reason to sing; I have a reason to worship.”

The Holy Spirit is funny with his reminders. I had to make the decision to choose joy. I had to choose to be thankful over pity. How could I not be thankful? I had the unconditional love of a daddy that not everybody gets to experience, a daddy who would give up his own life for his daughters. Even in the midst of all the darkness his alcoholism brought, I never once doubted his love for me. Not many people can say that, let alone, children of alcoholics. Therefore, it would be unfair to daddy’s legacy to not choose joy. I have grace to grieve when it comes over me, but I have a responsibility to choose joy and to keep choosing joy time and time again.

Grief is a funny thing, but joy is who I am.