First Love, Second Chance

It’s not often we get “do overs” in life…especially when it comes to relationships (and if it ended badly, we’d only dare to revisit it in our nightmares...toting a bazooka or some such weapon of mass destruction. Relax—I’m kidding, I’m kidding…kinda).

But some relationships simply end due to circumstance, without even the opportunity to grow. Such was the case in 1981 when I spent that unforgettable summer of my seventeenth year as an American foreign exchange student in the beautiful country of Peru.

This was when I met Paco.

He was this incredibly handsome, eighteen-year-old, soccer-playing hunk of Latin yum, and my adolescent heart did all kinds of craziness whenever he was near—and he was always near. Paco was best friends with my Peruvian “brother” Carlos, so every day after school, there he was, along with several other friends, ready for some fun.

Even though we were always together—hanging out on doorsteps or park benches, dancing salsa at parties, listening to music, watching videos, eating pizza in Mira Flores, piling into a friend’s VW bug to go anywhere and everywhere—we weren’t an official “couple”…yet.

But something inside of me was constantly drawn to him. Okay, sure, he was the only one out of the entire group of friends who spoke English—just another excuse, I suppose, to bring us together. He’d practice his English while I was finally able to express myself beyond two-word sentences and hand gestures. I lived for our moments together. He was not only my friend, but my confidant, my comedian, my shoulder to cry on, and my pillar of strength. Eventually, our status turned to “couple” on the night of August first, when on a park bench, we shared our first kiss.

One night, as my time in Peru grew to a close, we snuggled on a different park bench as Paco wiped away my tears of homesickness. “I think I understand how you feel,” he said in a soothing tone. “I could never leave my home and family. I love Peru and will never live anywhere else.” At that moment I knew our futures would be separate.

Or so I thought…

Twenty-eight years passed.

Two people grew in so many ways.

And God, in His wisdom, sees the big picture in everything. Sometimes, what once seemed impossible is now a minor hurdle just waiting to be crossed.

A name on a computer screen turned into a face, which brought back a flood of memories, which turned into a conversation, which brought back a flood of emotions, which turned into more conversations as two lonely hearts (a hemisphere apart) turned into a single beating unit.

Which brought about a do-over.

A first love.

A second chance.

 

Paco and I were married four years ago today. You can read a more detailed version of our story at www.mommygringa.blogspot.com or the Fairytale version HERE. Happy Anniversary, Honey. Thank you for being my Endless Love!


Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Blogger, Bakery Manager, and author of Shayla Witherwood: a Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son with her son, Preston Norton. Her first love is Paco, but her second and third loves are diet Coke and Hershey's Special Dark Chocolate.