Love Story in a Box

Ten years ago this month, my husband (boyfriend at the time) and I moved into the house we now call home. Shortly after, we began an extensive remodel project that would have us living out of our garage for a few weeks that summer. And we still liked each other when it was over.

Feeling a bit nostalgic, I wanted to find some before/after pictures of the house project, so I started looking in this box literally labeled “Photos” that I keep on the bottom shelf of my end table in the living room. I’ve looked through that box a million times but this time, I noticed something I hadn’t before.

Prom, graduations, the lake, college parties, Sunday Fundays, our engagement and wedding, holidays with family, birthday parties, brandings, babies. It was all there, randomly stacked, out of order, some out of focus–but it was all there. Photos of the last 20 years of our life. Milestones and memories of this amazing ride.

Our love story tossed in a box.

And it got me thinking about the leap of faith I took 10 years ago that would change my life. Since starting this blog I have contemplated telling this story, but I didn’t know if I should. Most of you have heard it, some of you lived it with us. No one would read it. Blogs posts should be informative and helpful–not the start of a novel.

Nevertheless, after some encouragement and after seeing all those pictures in the box, I decided I had to write it down.

To break up the length (anyone who knows me well, knows I can get a bit . . um . . . windy . . .) I have chosen songs to accompany your reading. It’s basically a soundtrack to this time in our lives. No need to watch the videos, it’s the song that really adds another emotional layer to the story. You may laugh, you may cry. I hope you do a little of both.

It Starts with a Boy and a Girl

We were young when we met at Chadron High in the fall of 2000. I was 16, he was 18. We couldn’t have been more opposite. I had big dreams of moving away, finding the lights of Broadway and leaving the small-town life. He rarely left Dawes County, USA.

I was obsessed with clothes, hair and makeup, singing, dancing and all things girly in the world—fabulous, to say the least! Clint was part cowboy, master angler, extreme hunter and the ultimate salesman. He could swear like a sailor, party like a rockstar and still charm the pants off of just about anyone—I was in trouble.

We started “dating” January of 2001, and I fell hard and fast. Let’s just say it took him a little longer, but he came around. And thus began a young love.

We attended our proms together, watched one another graduate from high school and had Sunday dinners with our families. And after my freshman year of college, we moved in together.

We also fought like cats and dogs. We did stupid, hurtful and immature things to one another.

I had this ridiculous notion that I needed to be married by 25. I thought by moving in, we would fix our issues and it would be a step in the right direction toward “the Plan”.

It seemed to be a never-ending story. I wanted him to settle down and get married. He wanted to be twenty-something and free. I was never content with the way things were and he just wanted to have fun.

We were too selfish, too bull-headed and too young. Unprepared to understand the amount of work real love takes, how it changes you and what happens after it’s gone.

I told him it was over in January 2006, and moved out.

It came as a bit of a shock to our friends and families. I honestly don’t think they thought I’d ever get the guts to leave. They knew I loved him too much and he loved me the same. But, in the end, that’s why I left and why he let me go. There was too much love to continue being unhappy.

The Divorce

When I moved out, I took A LOT of stuff with me. I guess I felt entitled to all the things I had used to make our house a “home” and that he didn’t deserve them because he didn’t want the “home” I’d made.

My dad brought a horse-trailer and it was parked in the driveway for all to see. I packed that sucker full.

I took curtains, bedding, plates, cups, silverware, towels . . . you get the picture. I wanted him to suffer without me, and doing so without a blanket on the bed only made it more tragic.

And so, this period became known as “the Divorce.”

During “the Divorce”, we each had a hell of a good time. Getting the chance to really enjoy college and our early 20’s with our friends is something we will never forget or regret.

To preserve our dignities, reputations, and friendships, I decided it was best not to share pictures from this time in our lives. There were no Instagram filters and a small amount of alcohol was consumed. Those photos will stay safely in the box. You are welcome.

I had three semesters of school left, so Clint and I would run into each other on occasion. Sometimes by accident, and sometimes not.

There always a low flame burning between us, one that just wouldn’t go out but would never ignite more than just a burning ember at the bottom of the wick.

It was hard to ignore and sometimes, we didn’t. But the flame never lasted more than a night.

Spreading my Wings

I finished up college in May of 2007 and moved to Las Vegas. I had a great job offer at Canyon Ranch SpaClub in the Venetian/Palazzo doing sales & marketing, a place to live with family and freedom. It was, to this day, the scariest and bravest thing I have ever done.

Before I left town, Clint stopped by to say goodbye and left me with a card and a Rascal Flatts CD with this song circled. It was the summation of what we had and what we wanted for each other.

Neither of us knew what the future held, but he wasn’t about to keep me from taking this chance.

I’d listen to this song when I got homesick or after a tough day at work. It was a sweet reminder that no matter what had happened between us, he and everyone back home would always be there for me.

Love in the City of Sin

I had been living and working in Vegas for a few months when I attended an event at the Hard Rock with my cousin. And, I met this guy. I will refer to him as “Industry Guy”.

He was attentive, funny, sweet and COMPLETELY opposite of anyone I’d ever dated before. He had tattoos and earrings, drove a lifted truck, cared about fashion and worked in “the industry” a.k.a resort hospitality/food/beverage/guest relations–you get the picture. To be specific, Industry Guy was a cabana attendant at the Hard Rock.

While his job sounds wishy-washy, at the time, it was pretty glam. He often catered to celebrities and high-profile clients in the cabanas. The money was good, but the status was better. It was an instant attraction. I was 23, living in Vegas and was desperate to live the life depicted on the hit show at the time, “the Hills”.

If you’ve not seen the show, it was a “reality” (I use that term loosely) show created by MTV about young 20-somethings living and working in L.A. They had glamorous jobs by day and partied at all the “it” Hollywood clubs by night.

I had the job and now I had the guy who could provide a glimpse of the social life I craved.

• 

• 

• 

Every now and then, Clint would call. Mostly just to check on me. And it was always just enough to make me wonder what could have been. But I tried hard to push those thoughts out of my mind. I needed to move on. And in those conversations, he seemed like he was trying to do the same.

After about 6 months of dating, Industry Guy and I moved in together. Things were getting serious and fast, so I told him that I wouldn’t marry a “cabana-boy”. Dating was one thing, but a commitment like marriage required a real job which would allow us to eventually live somewhere closer to Nebraska. A condition to which he seemed to agree. So, I helped him get a job as an insurance adjuster–which was a good fit for his detail-oriented personality and filled my need for a husband with an “adult” gig.

A year after we met, on a trip back home to Chadron for Fur Trade Days, he proposed.

And it was the proposal I had always wanted. We walked to the park I played in as a child and he popped the question on bended knee with the perfect ring in the gazebo where I’d always wanted to get married.

After a few stunned seconds, I said “Yes!” . . .

And I immediately thought of Clint . . .

And it Starts to Crumble

On the outside, I was celebrating. On in the inside, I was dying. But, I had made my bed. I had pushed for ALL of this–moving in together, him changing jobs, looking at rings. Now, I had to lie in it.

So, over the next several months, we planned a wedding which was scheduled to take place in Chadron in September. But the thought of getting married in the place where I had always envisioned marrying Clint eventually became overwhelming. I told everyone it would be “easier” to plan the wedding in Vegas, as that is where we both lived.

We changed the location and I hoped that a wedding in the desert would warm up my cold feet.

I made a solo trip home in late March and I ran into Clint’s best friend at the bar. Clint had just left and his friend insisted on calling him back down. He’d always been on the “Clint and Danielle” team. He wasn’t going to let me marry some other dude.

I protested. But I didn’t win. Clint showed up about 10 minutes later.

He wanted to talk.

We went outside to the car and made awkward small talk. Then he told me about the plans to buy Eagle Chevrolet and that he would be taking over as General Manager. He was nervous, scared even. He’d been managing their family dealership, Tommy’s Car Lot, for years. But this was big time.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it without me.

Then he asked, “Are you happy?”

I lied. Looked him dead in the face and said, “Yes.”

I continued to tell him how wonderful Industry Guy was and all the reasons he was right for me. I was still angry about things we’d done and said to each other the first go around. There were too many things I couldn’t forgive. I told him he’d had many chances to try to get me back, but it was too late.

I wished him luck with the new business, got out of the car and went back into the bar.

He didn’t follow me. He just drove away.

The truth was, things were starting to unravel . . . I was starting to have constant thoughts of how I could call the wedding off . . . that bed I’d made was getting pretty prickly . . . like I was sleeping with the hundreds of Joshua Trees I loathed driving by each day . . .

But I was stuck. Pinned down by this notion that I would be letting everyone down. Everyone was expecting a glitzy Vegas wedding. No one had any idea I was having second thoughts. What would I say? I couldn’t be honest about the REAL reason I wanted to stop the wedding.

I needed another way out.

And then Industry Guy told me he wanted to get back into “the Industry”.

He was a people-pleaser and he admitted he had done and said whatever he thought he needed to, to make me happy. But, I soon came to realize that all the things we planned together and the promises he’d made, would probably not come true.

He never had any intention of leaving Vegas and he’d never be content with a “traditional” job.

And, let’s be honest, I had been lying to him, too–I just couldn’t admit it.

At this point, not a day went by that I didn’t wish that conversation in the car with Clint had gone differently and that he’d show up on his white horse and bring me home.

Industry Guy and I had to make a decision. It was clear that we were not on the same path.

Three months before we were supposed to get married and just days before I had ordered the invitations, we postponed the wedding. Indefinitely.

But for some reason, I stayed.

Out of obligation or self-pity, I suppose. Maybe fear of admitting that the entire relationship, not just the engagement, was a failure. A sham. I am still not exactly sure.

So, we continued living together. And thus ensued a long summer of drowning my sorrows in giant bottles of cheap Chardonnay while watching Industry Guy search for jobs in “the Industry” and killing myself thinking about what to do next.

Finally, I dried my tears and I planned a trip home Labor Day weekend 2009 to get some clarity.

The Flame Still Burns

After a night out in good ole’ Chadron-town, a friend of mine and I headed to an after-party, where Clint happened to be.

He knew I’d called off the wedding. I’d called him a few days after we made the decision. I think I half-hoped that by telling him, he might finally make that heroic move and show up on my doorstep on that white horse.

But he never did. And I couldn’t understand why.

Didn’t he more or less say he still loved me and wanted me back only two months before I’d put the kibosh on wedding plans? What had changed? He had to have known I was full of shit when I told him I was happy and we’d never get back together again. I couldn’t have been THAT convincing! And, it’s not like I crushed his soul when I got out of that car.

Why did he have to be so god damned infuriating?

Upon seeing him again, it was clear we needed to talk. Which we did, drunkenly, until about 3 AM. Talking was all that happened this time–I was still wearing my engagement ring. The conversation was a bit of a merry-go-round. It wasn’t the time, place or mental state for anything profound to be said.

So, he drove me back to my parent’s house and I wondered what my mom would say.

My mom said nothing about my 3 AM arrival when I staggered into the kitchen later that morning. Her raised eyebrow said it all. I returned the facial expression and that was all we needed to say.

As I thought about the night before, it hit me. Clint had his fair share of good times during “the Divorce” and his stories from that time in his life are probably best left out of print. But despite the debauchery, one thing was certain, he had changed. He’d grown up.

And I still loved him.

I spent one more day in Chadron, and waited for Clint to call. I guess I expected him to check-in but then again, why? What good would it do? I was still wearing the ring and he wasn’t going to get on that white horse.

Then, as I was standing in the Rapid City Airport ready to board my plane back to Vegas, Clint called me.

Unfortunately, it was like many of our conversations before. We chatted cordially, like old friends. But he didn’t say “don’t get on the plane.” And I never said, “I am coming home to stay.”

And so the merry-go-round turns.

A Post “Rock” Revelation

One thing that was clear after my weekend in the “Rock” was that I couldn’t continue to live with Industry Guy in Vegas. I had to stop living in emotional-limbo and make a decision about the rest of my life.

Industry Guy picked me up at the airport. He was elated to see me until I got close, and he knew something was up. Even my face was tired of lying. On the way home, I told him we needed to talk.

I told him that we didn’t want the same things. That I wouldn’t sacrifice my dream of raising a family in a small town close to my parents so that he could live his dream doing bottle-service for celebrities surrounded by bikini-clad cocktail waitresses.

I mean, a girl has her limits. And he had his. He wanted the bottle service and cocktail waitresses. The house with the white-picket-fence, not so much.

Put your Blue Jeans Back On

The next day my aunt (mother of three daughters and definitely not her first rodeo) sat me down and said:

“It’s been months since you called off the wedding. Take off the ring, take some time and figure it out. This is going to take more than a weekend apart. You cannot keep living with him. You know the right thing to do, quit worrying about what everyone else will think. Be happy.”

I met with my boss, who was a total hard-ass, but for some reason, he saw my desperation and gave me the final permission I needed to make a break for it. He said he’d pay me and give me insurance for a month and told me to take a leave of absence.

So, after two years in Vegas, a summer of soul searching and being on the brink of a total and complete mental breakdown, I told Industry Guy I was going home for a while and I wasn’t sure when or IF I would come back.

And that was true, I wasn’t sure how long I’d stay in Chadron. I had friends in Denver, maybe I would get a job there. Or finally, chase my dream of becoming a country-music superstar and move to Nashville. The world was my oyster and I had 30 days to swallow it.

I packed my suitcase, left the ring on our dresser, got in my car and sought comfort in the one place, at one time, I wanted to run away from—home.

Industry Guy said goodbye saying he’d see me in a month, with a fearful look in his eyes that told me he knew otherwise. I left with a sinking feeling that I might never see him again . . . which then strangely turned to relief.

Nebraska . . . Now What?

My parents, who were serious saints throughout this entire ordeal, greeted me with relief and happiness upon my arrival in their driveway. They wouldn’t say it until much later, but they knew Industry Guy was wrong for me all along, they just knew me well enough to know that telling me would only push me in the other direction.

I had to come to this conclusion on my own.

In the meantime, they were devoted to making sure I “took care of me” and secretly hoped I’d get my shit together.

So, I sat. I went on walks. I listened to songs about love and loss. Surfed the internet for jobs, apartments, a different life. And I stared at the phone.

But he never called. Industry Guy called, of course. But he, Clint, never called.

I called Clint before I left Vegas, letting him know my plans. It caught him off guard, for a variety of reasons. Let’s just say it’s not every day you get the phone call you’ve been waiting for but don’t have all your “ducks” in a row . . .

Finally, about two weeks after I got to town, I got the phone call that would change everything.

It’s a Date

I was standing in the end zone after a Chadron State football game when my cell phone rang. It was Clint. He asked what I was doing that night and if I might like to go to dinner? He mentioned he had made reservations . . . wait. . . “who is this!?”

I agreed to go and nervously hung up the phone. I was with a girlfriend at the game who invited me to a local bar for a beer before we headed home. In the bathroom at the bar, I told her about the call.

She was excited but also cautious. She had seen the original Clint and Danielle Love Story, “The Divorce”, and wasn’t sure if she was ready for a sequel . . . but dinner never hurt anyone.

So, before the date, I did what any young, interesting, 20-something, small-town turned big-city-girl does when she is trying to impress her ex-boyfriend . . .

I got drunk.

I was SO nervous thinking about what was about to happen and the Blue Moon’s were flowing and the company was great. Next thing I know I look at the time and I had less than an hour to get home, sober up, get ravishing and meet Clint for our date.

Classy.

Upon arriving home, my mom was less than impressed with my state. And even more so when she learned of my evening plans. I can still see her face. They literally could have turned it into an emoji for “WHAT THE F*CK?!?”

However, true to fashion, she took the bull (a.k.a “Drunk Danielle”) by the horns and promptly started to feed me water and crackers to help get my life together.

Thanks to my fairy-godmother, thirty minutes later I was only slightly tipsy, looking pretty great with fresh make-up, hair and an outfit change and I headed out the door.

This next part is hard to write about because it was the longest and shortest night of my life. Thanks to my slightly inebriated state, it is a little bit of a blur but that may have also been due to the overwhelming sense that this night was going to change my life forever.

Our dinner reservations were at a restaurant in Hot Springs, SD about an hour away at the Blue Vervain. It was fine-dining for our area–and sadly, no longer there. But, I was certainly taken aback that he had chosen such a swanky location for our first date. Clearly, he knew how important this night would be too.

We made casual conversation during the drive and throughout dinner. I talked about my job, he talked about his. We talked about our families and the trips we’d taken. I had a few glasses of wine . . . because I NEEDED to drink more . . . he had a few whiskey waters and we enjoyed a great meal.

But, there was obviously a great, big, gigantic white elephant sitting with us at the table holding up a sign saying . . . “AND?!?” . . .

He paid the check and we slowly walked out to the parking lot. Now enters THE AWKWARD silence . . .

I don’t want to get all cliche and say that the next part was straight out of a movie . . . who am I kidding . . . it was straight out of the movie. Bring on the cliche, baby.

I was just about to open the car door when he spun me around and kissed me.

And cue the fireworks.

Not real fireworks. It was September and dry year, South Dakota frowns on that. But fireworks, nonetheless.

That moment still gives me all the feels. It was electric.

The kiss obviously broke the ice, and on the way home, Clint said something to the effect of:

“Dani, (that’s what he calls me because my full name is too long–seriously) I don’t know what you do to me, but no one else makes me feel this way. I’d never consider spending my life with anyone else. It’s you or no one. I never stopped loving you. But, I can’t lose you again. Not unless I know you are really happy and I don’t think you are. But, my home is in Chadron and I am never leaving. That has to be enough for you. We could have a great life together but I don’t want you to have any regrets. What do you want to do?”

After 9 years, those were the words I’d been waiting to hear. During all the knock-down-drag-out fights, after all of the tears, through lonely nights, all I wanted him to say was that I was “it”.

And I realized something, that’s all he wanted me to say too. That I wasn’t going back to Industry Guy, that I’d be happy living my life in Chadron, that I’d be willing to overlook our past and give us a real chance–with no regrets.

Now, any of you reading this who know Clint Lecher, know that first, he would never admit to any part of this story. Second, he would never be accused of public displays of affection. And third, he would tell you that he was right, all along.

You see, just before “the Divorce”, we went to Deadwood for my 21st birthday. We hadn’t been getting along all weekend and spent the ride home fighting because he wouldn’t commit. We’d been living together for two years but he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t be popping the question anytime soon. I was furious, disappointed and starting to question why I kept holding on to a relationship that would never amount to my expectations. And during that fight he said:

“If we’d met when you were 25, things would be different and I would be ready to give you what you want. But, you need to live your life and I need to live mine. We are too young.”

And when I said I was moving to Vegas, he never once tried to stop me. He never showed up at my door to “rescue” me liked I always hoped he would. He never wanted to be the reason I didn’t do something or hold me back because he knew that if it was meant to be, it would be–at the right time.

My mom knew this too. She said it to me all the time. But, who listens to their mom?

Clint also knew I would never truly be happy with this small-town life unless I’d seen and done “it all” first.

That’s why his white horse never got saddled.

For those of you doing the math; this date, this night to change everything, this moment when he finally said all the words I needed to hear and the reason I would call off my engagement and move back to Chadron for the rest of my life . . . happened about a week before my 25th birthday.

Don’t tell ANYONE I admitted he was right.

The Cop Out

So, I made the decision to stay. I told Industry Guy I’d be out to get the rest of my things while he was vacationing with his parents in Hawaii.

It was a cowardly move.

I wasn’t avoiding seeing him again because I was afraid I’d still have feelings. Any feelings more than friendship left the minute crossed the Nebraska state line.

I just couldn’t bear having him have to say goodbye, again. Having to explain why it wasn’t going to work out, again. Having to see the crushed look on his face as I left the driveway, again.

I wanted so badly to blame him for us falling apart. But, in the end, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had wanted that white-picket-fence.

It was me, it was my fault. I was in love with someone else and I had been the entire time. I just wasn’t brave enough to admit it. He’d had the guts, to eventually be honest with me about not wanting a boring “day-job”, but instead of just telling him my truth, I used his as a weapon. As an excuse to call it all off and leave him standing in the dust of a battle he’d never win against an enemy he never knew existed.

Before I left our house for the last time, I wrote him a note filled with apologies–but lacking in honesty–and hoped someday, when he found out the truth, he would forgive me.

A Happy Ending . . . that took a while

While I would love to tell you that upon my return to Chadron with my U-Haul filled with furniture, decor and H&M clothes, that Clint jumped at the chance to tie me down forever and immediately proposed.

I mean, we were clearly meant to be–why wait, RIGHT?!

In truth, he had some other things on his agenda.

First, he bought a new house on some land just outside of town which he intended for us to remodel. Which we did.

Second, he had been managing Eagle Chevrolet for less than a year, and he wanted to focus on building a successful dealership and expanding the business. Which he continues to do.

Third, he wanted to drive me completely nuts. Which he still does every day.

He was adamant that we wait, not rush and just enjoy being back together. Which I did . . . for a while . . . and then a very familiar feeling started to creep.

He was never going to propose. He isn’t the marrying kind. Why buy the cow when you get the milk (and the maid and the cook) for free?

We started to argue. And fight. And we almost killed each other. Literally and figuratively. I started to look for apartments.

But this time, he knew I wasn’t afraid to leave. I’d done it before and we had way more stuff this time. “The Divorce” round two would be epic in comparison to the first go-round. I’d need two horse trailers.

What I didn’t know, in all my scheming and threatening, was that he’d been working on buying me a ring for months. He was having it custom-made. He was picking out the perfect stone.

I just have a hard time with a little thing called patience.

FINALLY, one sunny morning about 2 ½ years later (like I said, FINALLY), on his 30th birthday, he woke me up and asked me the question I felt like I’d waited my whole life to hear–“Dani, will you marry me?”

And on August 31, 2013, we said vows to each other we wrote under a big cottonwood tree surrounded by 500 of our closest family, friends and customers followed by a party under the biggest tent ever made this side of the Mississippi.

A story for another day is the one when the tent almost blew away in tornado-force winds the night before the wedding, everyone went out at 4 AM to start cleaning up and re-decorating before I saw the damage and my sister-in-law took off her shirt to save my hand-painted chalkboard sign from the coffee I spilled on it.

All events fitting of the occasion. Clint Lecher was getting married. Hell didn’t freeze over but shit hit the fan for a bit, ya know, just to make sure I was sure.

The Front Porch Looking In

Let’s be real, it hasn’t always been a fairytale. We have not been without angry words, tears, sleepless nights and silent mornings. But, we’ve survived and more often than not, thrived.

I have incredible admiration for the couples who have been married for 50, 60 or 70+ years. Anyone who gets into this thing called love for a lifetime and expects perfection will be sadly disappointed. But, I can still say that every day I wake up insanely happy that this man chose me, and I chose him.

And that’s really what true love is. It isn’t the perfect proposal or the flowers “just because” or the weekend getaways. Sure, those things certainly add to a lifetime of happiness. But real true love is simply choosing. Choosing each other over all else. Choosing to do the hard work, to say the hard things and to get through the hard times, together.

In the last 10 years since I made the move back, we’ve traveled, celebrated my job promotions and successes at the dealership, hosted countess parties with dear friends and family, had two beautiful children, made the decision for me to stay home full-time and are now looking to the future–excited about what may come.

So after all the laughter, tears, whiskey, wine and now almost 20 years since that fabulous small-town 16-year-old girl fell in love with that smooth-talking cowboy-car-salesmen, I can honestly say it was all worth it.

And those sweet moments are all captured in that box, vaguely labeled “Photos”. A beautiful, jumbled mess of what we have achieved. Snapshots of well-lived youth.

I hope to come up with a meaningful way to display ALL of those pictures in the box, but if I never get around to it, I want to make sure this is printed off and put in that box. Those pictures deserve a little background story.

And someday after we are gone, my kids might be feeling nostalgic themselves, find the box and read about how their parents fell in love.

In the meantime, I’ll be using the old garden gate that hangs in my hallway. I have used this gate to display Liv’s artwork, Christmas cards and photos throughout the years. I pulled out some of my favorite photos of the last 20 years and hung them in order with clothespins. It may change throughout the year, but I think it is a great way to mark the start of a new decade.

Oh, and LANCO totally owes us some royalties for stealing our story for their song.

Cheers.