The Long Way to Us

There are love stories that start with fireworks - whirlwind romances that sweep you off your feet.
Ours didn’t. Ours began in a counseling group for kids from “broken homes.” And maybe that’s why it worked - because from the beginning, Jay and I didn’t need perfection. We just needed understanding.

Where It All Began

It was 1989 at Hillcrest High School in Dallas. Every Thursday afternoon, a few of us were pulled from class for free counseling, the district’s way of helping kids with divorced parents process life. We were the “broken home” kids, the ones who laughed too loudly to hide how much it hurt.

That’s where I met Jay.

We bonded over humor, sarcasm, and that quiet knowing that comes from shared hurt. We never dated. We were just friends, the kind who didn’t need words to fill the silence. A few of us from “group” would hang out after school, and for a while, it felt like we’d all found a little pocket of peace in the chaos.

Then life happened. I dropped out. Jay changed schools. We drifted apart, not because we wanted to, but because that’s what life does when you’re young and unmoored.

He moved to Nashville. I stayed in Texas. Long-distance calls were expensive back then, and his girlfriend wasn’t exactly thrilled about him keeping up with an old female friend. Eventually, the calls stopped. The chapter closed - or so I thought.

Reconnecting

Fast forward to July 2005. My best friend from Hillcrest, Nancy, asked me one simple question:
“Hey, do you know whatever happened to Jay?”

That question sparked something in me.

I had the internet now, a tool that was in its infancy when Jay and I last talked. I decided to look for him. I had a plan: if I couldn’t find Jay, I’d find his dad, Dan Seals, and if not him, then his manager, Tony. Somewhere in that trail of connections, I’d get a lead.

And then I found it, on the second page of my google search - an email address for “Jay ‘Nightshade’ Seals” on a 3D graphic design site. My heart raced as I typed a message that was equal parts awkward and hopeful, the essence was:

“Not sure if this is the right person, or if it is, if you even remember me. But if you do, here’s my contact info.”

It was July 14, 2005, Bastille Day. Fitting, really. Freedom. Revolution. A new beginning.

A few hours later, my phone rang. It was him.

Becoming “We”

We talked for hours, every day, as if the years apart had only been a long pause. We filled in the blanks, laughed about the past, and fell into a rhythm that felt both brand new and completely familiar.

In September, Jay took two weeks of vacation and came to visit me in Texas. Those two weeks changed everything. When he left, neither of us could stand the distance. A few weeks later, he came back, car loaded, heart open, ready to stay.

By late November, he proposed. On May 7, 2006, I married my best friend — the boy I met in group therapy so many years before.

Reflection

Looking back now, I see how much of our story was about timing. We weren’t ready at 15. We had to grow, fall, get lost, and learn who we were before we could become us.

Ours wasn’t a fairy tale. It was real, messy, honest, and built on friendship that weathered time and silence.

We didn’t find each other by chance. We found each other when we were finally ready to stay.

And that, to me, is the most beautiful kind of love story there is.

For Jay — who always found his way home to me.