Getting Closer

My love affair for Keith Urban began at a time where falling in love with someone other than my deceased husband was simply not an option. It was a time of hiding. I wore my wedding ring like an invisibility cloak to insure that no man would notice me.

Yet I longed to be loved. My groupies and I joked about having some random love affair just to feel like we were still alive. Of course, almost immediately after the joke came out, it was snatched up off the table for safety’s sake. We all knew that we were just too broken for any real sort of encounter. Unlike the others from my widow’s support group, I was certain that someday I would be brave enough to accept another man’s love.

I started small. In the wee hours of the night, I listening to my iTunes, desperately trying to fall asleep. Of all my music, Keith Urban’s songs soothed me the best. I imagined that he was in the room playing his guitar and singing me to sleep. Although I joked about him leaving his lovely bride to be with me, him singing me to sleep to cure my insomnia truly was the extent of my fantasy. For me, it was enough.

Now, years later, listening to him singing these same songs moves me to tears. Remembering how sad and lonely I was, my emotions run away with me as I alternate from wiping tears to feeling almost giddy-like as I notice just enough tattoo peaking out of his shirt to draw my eyes in. Oh yeah; I’d have to be half-dead not to notice that this man is hot. The crowd stands to clap and sing along to his songs while Keith dances around the arena with his “Jeans On” and the crowd screaming for him to walk their way. I am no longer alone in the crowd. I too stand and sing, clap, and wildly scream for him to Get Closer to me. “Over Here, Keith! Over HERE!”

And all the while I smile, because thankfully, I am not half-dead any longer. I am alive and so very blessed.

Photo compliments of: Christina G. and her creative talants on getting up close and personal with Keith on his “Get Closer” Tour.