Has it really been three months since I last posted?!?  My apologies, my dear followers and readers, if any of you are still around.

My life has been wonderfully ordinary in extraordinary ways these last three months — all blessings from my Higher Power, from sobriety, from those meetings where I hang out and talk about steps.

I’ve come to love ordinary. Simple. Quiet. I get to see the daffodils blooming along side the road and appreciate their rebirth.

“Look,” New Beau said. “Spring.”

I turned to him and smiled.

“The daffodils,” he said.

“Yeah.”

A rebirth has happened. A blooming. A spring forward. An ordinary moment in an extraordinary world. The things I’ve prayed for, dreamed about, cried over are coming together in a path, in a direction, in a way that is better than I could have ever hoped for.

I prayed for The Wizard to get sober. He didn’t. I got sober.

I prayed for The Wizard to come back to me. He didn’t. I got to move on to adventures beyond my imagination.

I prayed for a financial settlement in the divorce that would allow me to support The Kids. I didn’t get it. God gave me a career doing really cool stuff, instead.

I prayed help with my finances. I got the money I needed when I needed it, not a dollar more.

I prayed for a partner in my life, someone to walk beside me. God sent me someone so kind, so gentle, so loving that I feel like I need to pinch the New Beau to make sure he is real. But, first, God sent me a few a**holes to make sure I appreciated the gentle, kind, trustworthiness I get to experience now.

I met the New Beau four months ago — one of those online dating matches. At that first dinner, we closed down the restaurant, neither of us wanting to end the night. We’ve spent every weekend, and many weeknights, together ever since then. We’ve traveled together to one of those coastal towns for a wedding (his friends). Our kids have colored Easter eggs together. We went to Easter Mass together. We’ve held hands through the aisles of a Big Box home improvement store where he was looking for a new grill. We’ve cooked together. We’ve shopped together. We’ve walked through our ex’s binges together. He’s gone through a PTSD moment with me where I physically and emotionally curled into a ball because I thought I wasn’t safe. He’s attended my daughter’s musical performance. I’ve attended his brother’s theater performance. We’re having dinner at his sister’s place this weekend. He’s gone to open AA meetings with me. He’s heard me stand in front of my favorite group of drunks and say, “I’m Dorothy and I am an alcoholic.”

Ordinary. Just simple, ordinary experiences.

Last night, we stood in his driveway saying goodnight. It was a warm spring evening, though the clouds masked the stars. The words danced in my heart — those words. The three little words. The words I haven’t said to another man in probably six years or more. They’ve been floating in my head for a couple of weeks now, but haven’t yet escaped my lips or his. I said a little prayer the night before, “Please, God, open the door and show me the moment when I can tell this man I love him.”

As we stood there in the rebirth air, our goodnight words ceased.

Silence, comfortable, wonderful silence, flowed between us.

Without flinching, without looking away, without hesitation, with his eyes never leaving mine, New Beau said, “I am falling in love with you.”

“I’m falling in love with you, too.”

“I never thought I would say those words again,” he said.

I took his face in my hands, “Do you know what I’ve been thinking as we stood here? My head has been screaming and I’ve been wanting to say: if a meteor falls from the sky tonight and I cease to exist, I need you to know that I love you.”

Daffodils. Lots and lots of daffodils.