Eighty- Eight Love Letters

 

In 2003, I spent the first semester of my Junior Year of college studying literature at the Centre for Medieval and Renaissance Studies at Oxford University in England.

Nine months before I left, I had met a young man named Anthony Hughes. We met a month before his 27^th birthday, and three months after my 19^th birthday. I was a Sophomore in College at California Baptist University, and he was a physical therapist from Lake Isabella who worked in Bakersfield (where my parents live). A mutual friend had set us up on a blind date and we’d been dating casually and emailing ever since.

Though our feelings for each other were growing stronger, I had adventures to go on and all of Europe to explore- I made it clear to Anthony that though I liked him very much, I was not going to be held back or tied down…at least not yet. I guessed that he might be falling in love with me, and I knew I liked him very much, but I was not going to be held back or tied down

Anthony and I made no promises, we exchanged no rings, and we did not pledge our undying love to each other. By that time in my life, I knew that the next time I told someone I loved them, it would also mean that I planned to marry them. And I wasn’t ready to make that commitment yet.

Anthony agreed that we should keep things casual and asked my permission to call me and email me when I was away in England, which of course, I agreed to. Before I left for LAX, Anthony gave me a well-funded phone card (remember those?) and an envelope that was not to be opened until my plane was off the ground. When I opened it, I discovered $300 in cash. As Anthony well knew, I would not have accepted that large of a gift from him if it had been in person because I believed it would be wrong to accept money of that amount from a man whom I had no plans to marry - BUT I was halfway across the ocean, so there was nothing to do but smile and feel grateful that Anthony had provided money that I sorely needed for my adventure.

Once I arrived in Oxford and got established in my new residence, I began checking my mail daily at my box at the CMRS building. There was already a letter there, waiting for me, from Anthony. The next day, there was another, and then another.

I received a letter in my mailbox from Anthony every day of the week.

Since the Post didn’t operate on Sundays, I received two letters every Monday. Sometimes his letters were silly, sometimes funny, sometimes sad, but always sweet, always kind, and never demanding.

And that wasn’t all- He sent me a bouquet of roses on my 20^th birthday (how do you even arrange something like that overseas?), and a 2^nd bouquet on the 1-year anniversary of the day we had met. He also sent four care packages, and more phone cards. We talked on the phone nearly every night when I was not gallivanting to Paris, Limerick or Edinburgh, and every day there was a letter in my mailbox and an email in my inbox.

It was as if he was saying, “You’re free, Sandy, to come and go as you please. I won’t hold you back- but I’ll be here for you whenever you want me. And I will take care of you in any way I can.”

I missed him terribly, and felt no interest in any of the young men I met at Oxford. I began just telling people I had a boyfriend back in California to make explanations simpler and to ward off unwanted male attention. Suddenly, his letters, emails, and phone calls became the most important parts of my day (well, except for all the incredible Oxford adventures I was having!)

And by the end of November, a month before it was time to come home to the United States, I knew that I loved him, and that, yes, I would marry him if he asked. Though I hated leaving Oxford behind, I couldn’t wait to see Anthony again.

When I returned home in December, I had eighty-eight letters packed carefully in my suitcase. I was terribly ill with some sort of foreign flu bug and my flight was delayed, so that I had to spend an extra night in a hotel by myself. When my flight finally arrived, it was at a different time than I had told my parents, or Anthony, who were supposed to come pick me up. I scanned face after face in the crowd- but no one was there when my flight arrived.

Sick, exhausted, and full of despair, I used the last of my phone cards to call Anthony’s cell-phone. He didn’t pick up and all I could do was leave a message telling him that I was there at LAX, waiting. In my sickness and confusion, I was frightened that I wouldn’t recognize him after the long separation. Would I remember his face? Would he still love me?

I didn’t have to wait long. Anthony soon appeared, I instantly recognized his dear face, and much to my relief, he took charge of me, my parents, and my luggage. I got home safely, and a few days later, we told one another that we loved each other. He gave me a silver promise ring. By my Senior Year in 2005, he upgraded the promise ring to a diamond engagement ring. We were married a month after my college graduation in 2005.  

We’ve been married over 15 years now. Sometimes I marvel at how blessed I am to have found a man who loves me like Anthony does. He remains faithful, kind, and true, and continues to take care of me.

Anthony and I becoming engaged in 2004