The Text Messsage

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Back and forth, from SFO to LAX, I flew Delia and myself every other weekend for three months. In the 10 or so days between our visits we video called, IMed, tested and, I think, even wrote a letter or two. Many laughs, tears of longing were shed and intentions set and boundaries laid down. And then, late one night, after seeing her bounce around my laptop screen and I climbed up the stars to the loft bed in the hippy bungalow behind a row of Victorians on Potrero, in a fit of hormones, I wrote those four words—that fateful text message:

“Let’s make a family.”

Although I had been practicing minimal-delivery-for-maximum-impact for years, I had never changed two lives with so few words. I paused before I sent it knowing this was the biggest leap of my life. Love overcame doubt and reason and, once I hit send, my body filled with all the positive chemicals it could release. Excitement & relief. Finally, I had made a decision to see a relationship through and hang on no matter how crazy I may think it all is. After a while, I came down enough to fall asleep in bliss.

That was my proposal: a phrase that we would both use over then next year in various discussions. A phrase that would save my ass during the rough times when doubt would creep in or when I seemed to be taking way to0 long to “pop the question.” In my mind I already had, we’re already married. The rest is just the blessing and the party.

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