“Don’t worry,” my mom’s neighbor told her upon hearing I was getting a divorce, “Allison will be married in a year. You’ll see.”

When my mom recounted that exchange to me, I thought—yeah, I might be married in a year, but that seems pretty quick. How can she be so confident? Nonetheless, I hoped I would find love again someday after Peter. It would be a different love. But love wasn’t out of reach. Maybe I didn’t even need wait that long.

It took Peter and me two years to finalize our divorce. About a year into it, when all my hopes of getting back together were dashed, I began to think about dating other men. I knew I didn’t really want to date online. I had heard some pretty nutty and negative tales from girlfriends who had embarked on that path. The most natural place I could think of to meet someone for me was at church. It’s how I met Peter and it remains a vital part of my life.

I met Peter on a church youth group trip to Mexico when I was a high school senior. He was a college sophomore and a brand-new Christian. Peter was the cutest guy to come to the church in a long time and I was smitten. Just two years later, at age 19 for me and 23 for him, we were married and I thought it would be forever. I imagined us dancing at our 50^th wedding anniversary just like my grandparents had done. But sadly, that day will never come. We did make it pretty far—35 years—and I’m proud that although we split up, we have many happy memories and we raised two wonderful boys together.

Our divorce proceedings took place during Covid and thankfully both of us were amicable. But those were dark days. I won’t sugarcoat it. I suffered from frequent panic attacks and I had a bipolar episode that lasted months. The divorce moved slowly, as we were both scared to pull the trigger. Months passed between meetings and at my request we made an attempt at marriage counseling. We saw each other once in a while for a drink, just to keep things friendly. For much of this time I was in denial divorce was happening. I couldn’t use the word divorce. Not me, not a Christian woman who vowed to stay together “until death do us part.”

My church shut down during Covid, like most others, but it broadcast online episodes. When the shutdown lifted a year later, I began to return to church, though not often because I had moved in with my parents to ease my loneliness and their house is a relatively long drive from the church. When I did go to church, I kept my eyes open for new men. I won’t pretend. I wanted to find someone who could be a companion. I’m just not wired to be solo. I knew that at 19 and I know it now.

My church is small and there are few single men my age. I did meet a couple of guys who were trying out the church after their church had folded. They were nice, but after a few months they stopped coming. Maybe, I thought, I should go to a bigger church. My divorce was practically final and I was ready to start life from scratch again, even if it meant leaving the church I had known for over 30 years.

I attended a handful of other churches and checked out their services as well as any single men. I didn’t see many single men. Meanwhile, I was still living with my parents and we would often watch church online, usually megachurches who had good music and pastors who delivered stemwinders, as my mom would say.

Then, in August 2022 I attended a Spanish language immersion camp in Lake Tahoe. I was still having panic attacks but I wanted to forge on with my life. I had a wonderful week, staying in a cabin with friends and speaking Spanish all day long in classes and workshops. The program included a wine tasting event and I eagerly signed up.

The wine event was also open to the public. We were guided to various tasting stations and given descriptions of the wine in Spanish. At the end of the tasting we were invited to sample some appetizers. I happened to sit next to Gregg. He wasn’t part of our immersion program. He told me he and a friend had come up to Tahoe to camp this weekend and heard about the event. As Gregg and I chatted, I was struck by how much we had in common—we were both Spanish speakers, we both lived in the Bay Area, we loved travel to Latin America (he had just spent a year in Honduras) and we were similar ages with adult children. Oh, and we both grew up in Marin County, one town apart. I was bold and gave him my business card in case he wanted to meet up sometime.

It took Gregg three weeks to call me. He didn’t say why he waited so long but he said he would be interested in meeting and we arranged a time in Tiburon. We got soft serve ice cream and sat by the Tiburon shoreline. I found out that his wife had died some years ago from cancer and that he had a rocky relationship with one of his adult kids, who was still living at home. That was a bit of a red flag to me.

Gregg and I saw each other twice more and things went well. Once we went to the San Francisco Ferry Building farmer’s market. The other time we went to Dolores Park. Both places are magical. But there was a big problem for Gregg and me. He was an atheist and I was a cross-wearing Christian. That was another red flag and maybe not surmountable. At the end of our third date, Gregg said he didn’t feel a spark between us. I thought it might be too soon to feel or not feel a spark but I accepted his conclusion.

Meanwhile, I was still living with my parents and working at the local swim and tennis club. I thought I might meet some dashing athletic man at the club, but the only guy who took real interest in me was a man from El Salvador who worked on the maintenance staff and moonlighted as a disc jockey on the weekends. He spoke little English and so we enjoyed speaking Spanish together. He invited me to an outing on a lake one weekend but I turned it down. He also invited me to one of his dj performances. I liked him but I knew we had too many differences to be compatible and he was also much younger than me.

As my year at my parent’s house rolled to a close I wondered if I’d be able to move back into my own home again. I had enjoyed their company and routines. We ate breakfast and dinner together and watched TV at night. They stuck with me through my panic attacks and depression. They loved me deeply. I worried I’d be lonely in my house all by myself. I asked several friends if they wanted to be my roommate.

In the months leading up to my move back to my house a curious thing happened. I had reconnected with an old friend, Jim, whose wife had died suddenly of a heart attack. His wife, Crissy, was actually my best friend from college. We had stayed friends after college but eventually lost touch. Her husband Jim had called me in December 2022 to tell me of her passing and invite me to her memorial service. Like everyone else, I was shocked that my friend had passed so young. In fact, we had just gotten in touch again and had plans to get together.

About a month after Crissy’s memorial, I sent Jim a text asking if he needed help with anything. I was thinking he might need meals or driving help with his twins. He said, no; what he really could use was going out for a coffee. The farthest thing in my mind was dating Jim. I simply thought I could help him. We enjoyed our coffee and decided to meet again. He offered to come to Tiburon and meet me there. We had a nice stroll by the waterfront and the atmosphere was festive. It was the end of Ramadan and various tables were set up with crafts. We ran into my parents and another old friend, George Landau (who was the subject of my last blog post.)

Jim and I continued to see each other yet I thought it was simply an amicable relationship. He never tried to hold my hand or kiss me. He didn’t bring my flowers. I was OK with that. We were both in tender places. We needed time to heal.

About six months into our coffee dates things changed abruptly. Look for part 2 of this blog in a few days and I’ll share the rest of the story. Suffice it to say that I have met my life partner and love. I can’t say for certain but it feels somewhat miraculous that we’ve found each other. Did God intervene or was it serendipity? Either way, we’re very happy together. My mom’s neighbor was right. I would be married in about a year.