Before Him Comes Me (32 page)

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Bonus
chapter from Di Anne Sandvik

Steps Of The Heart First Dance

Copyright 2015 Di Anne Sandvik

Chapter
One

            When
I awake some mornings, I have to remind myself
that this is real.

            I
mean my life
now, and where I am, and who I have become. Yes, it's all real. I know
exactly who I am because I have worked hard to become this “me”. I have paid a
huge price along the way. Because of all my hard work, my sore aching body
reminds me every morning, who I am. I am the reigning World Latin Dance
Champion, Victoria Moore. If you had told me five years ago that I would be a
Latin dance champion living in a loft apartment in New York City, and owning my
own dance studio, I would have told you that you were absolutely crazy.

           
To this day, mornings
are hardest. It's been five years since that fateful day when my world turned
upside down. That morning when I felt like I lost everything. I can still hear
the pounding at my front door. I opened it to find my husband's boss Scott
standing there with such a look on his face.  A look that I will never
forget.  He was there to deliver the news that the love of my life, my
amazing husband Blake, had been killed that morning on a job site. The
devastating shock and sadness that followed those first few days is still very
painful for me to even think about. At that one moment, my life as I knew it
had tragically ended.

           
It was one year
before Blake's death that I had to deal with the tragic loss of my parents who
were killed in a terrible car accident. As an only child, I had to handle
everything: funeral arrangements, selling the home I grew up in and settling
their affairs. My husband was there to  help me through what I thought was
the hardest thing I
’
d
ever had to do. Little did I know one year later I would face the unthinkable.
 We always had each other
’
s back.  But this time, I had no one. I
was alone with nothing but grief, emptiness and loss. 

      
I've struggled everyday since Blake's death
reliving all the memories of our life together. It hurts too much to remember,
but I fear the memories will fade and become just that, memories. God, how I
miss him. He had the most amazing turquoise eyes that changed with his moods.
Blake had ruggedly handsome features that were accented by his perfectly
bronzed skin, from years of working outside in the Florida sun. We shared a
love that I know I will never have again. I know this because I've chosen to
close my heart off . Oh, I've tried dating these past five years but when you
compare every man you meet to the one that captured your heart and soul so
perfectly you eventually just give up. He was more than just my husband, Blake
was my best friend. He was my everything. Why chase perfection when you’ve
already had it. A love like ours only happens once. That’s why I have put
everything into my career. It’s my way to escape the reality of it all. I hide
within the comfortable routine of my life. I bet your wondering how I consider
my life routine.  It happens. You shut yourself off from love and close
your heart, than life becomes routine. 

 
     
Selfish as this will sound, I miss his touch
the most. Waking to mornings like this with his memory fresh on my mind reminds
me how I loved to wake to his hands and lips all over my body.  The site
of his perfectly tanned, muscular body draped over mine was my favorite
way to wake up. Blake always referred to himself as my personal alarm clock.
Like I said, he was perfection.  It's painful for me to remember Blake’s
touch
. But even more painful
to live with that fact  that I will never have that again. There are so
many amazing things about him but the loss of his touch is what I mourn the
most.

           
We were in our late
twenties when we married and it seemed we were always working so hard just to
make ends meet. There was no time, and even less money in those early years of
our marriage, for children. I learned that day when everything changed,
that we had run out of time, and all the things we had hoped for were never
going to happen. 

           
It was a long,
emotion filled road to get where I am today. I can still remember the day I
received the call from my husband's insurance company. They told me that they
were so sorry for my loss, and that had a check ready to be sent to me. When I
received the check, I had no idea he had taken out a million dollar life
insurance policy. There was also a letter enclosed with the check, written in
Blake's own handwriting and addressed to me. He had taken the time to write me
a letter that was to be delivered with the check if anything ever
happened to him. The letter is stained with my tears but his words brought me
great comfort. I still carry that letter with me to every dance competition as
a reminder. It is a reminder to me not to give up, to keep going, to move
forward in life, and to be happy. He wrote that he never wanted me to have to
return to work; he wanted me to enjoy life and do something I always wanted to
do. 

           
In Blake's letter he
said, "Maybe you should take those dance classes you always wanted us to
take, but I was never interested."  Ever since I was a young
child I have always loved dancing. My mother sent me to the local dance studio and
I took ballet, tap and jazz like every other young girl wanting to dance.
 I've always had this need and desire to not only dance but to perform and
be the center of attention. But just  like everything in life, we change,
we grow, we mature. Real life begins to takes over and our dreams are
forgotten.  

           
It was just like
Blake to think that a million dollars would send me straight to easy street.
Yes, the money has made it less difficult, but I still had to work hard to get
here. I have learned money is not everything.  For me it just helps fill a void
for the things that are taken from you. I will be forever grateful to my
husband for making sure he provided for me, even after his death.

            Financial
security did make life more comfortable, but it wasn't until I received an
unexpected call from Scott a few months later that made it possible for me to
go after my dreams. Blake worked as a technician for Scott
’
s utility company and
he was their lead man. It seems my husband was killed due to a piece of
machinery that malfunctioned and Scott sued the manufacturer. They sued on
behalf of the company, and on Blake’s behalf as well. I knew his boss had felt
responsible for his death, but I had no idea he had gone after the company that
built the faulty machinery. When he called that day he told me that there could
never be any amount of money that would ease my pain, but he wanted to do what
he could for me. Apparently the manufacturer did not want any bad publicity,
and they were eager to settle both lawsuits out of court to avoid this. When he
told me the amount they settled for on behalf of my husband, I was shocked. Not
only was the settlement for five million dollars, but the manufacturer had also
agreed to pay all the attorney fees.

            I
was rich as far as money goes, but what I really needed was time to heal. Life
had lost all meaning.
 
It was as though I had no purpose, no reason to get out of bed in the
morning.  My days were empty and I felt there was nothing to look forward
to in my life.  The healing didn
’
t take place until a friend of mine stepped
in to lend me a much needed helping hand.  A wonderful man that I had met
through work. I call him Dr. R.  He was a customer that shopped at the
department store where I worked, and we became great friends. Dr. R was a
psychiatrist who practiced in the Central Florida area where I was living, and
had an estate in his hometown of Cartage
ñ
a, Colombia. When he
heard about Blake's death he invited me to his casa in Cartage
ñ
a to help me with my
healing process. It was my first trip to South America. I knew his intentions
were nothing but professional. He has an outstanding reputation in the
community helping sexually abused children and over the years has become a
great friend. 

            Still
 I was not sure
how the trip to Cartage
ñ
a was going to help me, but Dr. R. insisted I
needed to step away from everything to begin to heal. I had resigned myself to
to a life of sitting on the couch every day crying.  I figured I had
nothing else to lose so I took him up on his offer.  I had to do
something. I was getting so good at picking the “Baby Daddy” before the results
were revealed on Maury Povich that I was even starting to worry about myself.
No matter how many close friends you have to help you get through something
like this, their lives return to normal after a few weeks. But yours doesn
’
t. That is when the
reality of everything sets in place.  Dr. R. knew this, of course, and
stepped in at the right time.  If it wasn't for him, I
’
m not sure what would
have happened to me.

           
My first few days there he left me to myself. He owned a
beautiful home on the coast
. As clich
é as it may sound, I took countless walks on
the beach and spent time just thinking and remembering what I had and what I
had lost.  Once I adjusted to my new surroundings and felt ready to open
up and talk, Dr. R and I would meet every afternoon for one on one
counseling.  During those first sessions we didn
’
t talk much --
instead, he just listened to me cry.  Trust me, I cried a lot.
It was as though my
tears were speaking for me; they represented my pain in a way I just couldn
’
t put into
words.  At least not yet.  Sometimes I wondered how he could do it --
just sit there and let me cry, saying nothing at all about what I was going
through.  But looking back, I can see now that this was the only way to
get to the heart of what I was truly feeling.  I was finally grieving.  I
cried until there were simply no more tears; and my tear banks were
empty.  Eventually, he started doing the talking and pointed out all the
wonderful memories I had with Blake.  He showed me how, once I began
verbalizing those memories, how I could feel good about them and cherish them
and keep them with me forever. It was only then I was able to step away from
the pain and focus on the fact that I had a beautiful marriage with an
incredible man.  Dr. R reminded me that some people never get the chance
to love, and even though Blake was gone, and we had only shared a short time
together, we were among the lucky ones. We had that chance.
We loved.

            Not
only was Cart
age
ñ
a a place of healing
for me, it was also my impetus; it was here where I took my first steps toward
a completely new life.  My new life. A life I could never have
predicted. 

            We
spent most evenings going out to dinner to some
of the lively neighborhood
cafés.  The selection of entrée
’
s were a mix of flavors from Spanish to
Afro-Caribbean.  My favorite was the ceviche: a raw fish marinated in
thyme and citrus. A citrus flavor like I have never tasted before. The hearty
empanadas and the stiff margaritas had also become a favorite. It has been said
when a person cooks for you they are speaking to you. If that
’
s true, then Cartage
ñ
a speaks many
languages. After dinner was served, they would clear away the tables, turn up
the music, and suddenly the atmosphere was filled with electricity.  I
loved to watch the locals dance.  Dancing like I had never seen before.
Latin dancing. And I mean REAL Latin dancing. Not the ballroom shit you see on
TV.  I
’
m talking about
couples moving together with such passion and energy, it would make you blush,
as though you were watching something intensely intimate.  It was
hot.  It was exciting.  It was sexy.  

            Dr.
R. noticed my fascination and one evening he dared me to accept an invitation
to dance with one of the locals.
I took his dare. I
had no idea what I was doing, but the minute I stepped onto the dance floor I
knew it was where I wanted to be.  When the young dancer first took me in
his arms, I was scared to death, and it made me feel very uncomfortable. Their
style of dancing was so raw and heated. I almost felt I was doing something
unacceptable for a woman who was supposed to be grieving the loss of her
husband. But it was also, so liberating to let go, not worry and just get lost
in the dancing. No one here knew anything about me and my suffering.  So no one
judged me. By the end of my stay in Cartage
ñ
a I had become a
regular, dancing with the locals. There were nights I danced way into the early
mornings to the point where my feet ached and sleep came easily from sheer
exhaustion. I danced my ass off most nights. At first the dancing was a way to
help me forget my pain, and a way to sleep. But as time went the pain
disappeared and I was left with a feeling of joy and contentment.