I was nineteen years old when I fell in love with my husband. That was thirty-one years ago, and the sensations of love at first sight are still vivid in my mind. I had dated many guys, but the moment my eyes met his and after passing the summer together in rural Ontario, I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

Our parents had met five years earlier during their summer holiday in Mont Gabriel, Quebec.  Simon’s parents owned the largest nursery chain in Canada. They had asked my parents if I wanted a summer job in one of the stores. My parents graciously accepted the offer because it was the perfect way to extract me from a boyfriend who they didn’t particularly like. Little did I know that that seemingly benign decision would have a major impact on the rest of my life. It must have been meant to be.

I packed my bags for the eight weeks away, kissed my boyfriend Michael, good-bye and boarded the plane for Toronto. Jeannine, his mother, picked me up from the airport in her station wagon and drove me to their home just one hour north of Toronto. We pulled up to this rather large gravel parking lot with the nursery on one side and a cottage-style house on the other. In the middle of the parking area sat an old wooden merry-go-round with kids laughing and spinning around. 

Jeannine parked in front of the house and I unloaded my suitcase from the trunk. I mounted the two stairs leading up to the front porch and as I approached the screen door, a tall twenty-something-year-old man with a large red afro hairstyle (a sign of the times) and a big smile, pulled open the door. With one hand, he held the door and with the other he reached out to shake my hand. His handshake was solid and firm, just like my father said it should be. My green eyes linked with his brown eyes and we both held a stare—as if we had met somewhere before.

“Hello, I’m Simon,” he said, as I entered.

“Hi, I’m Diana,” I responded nervously, already smitten by his allure. My mother had spoken about the younger children in their family, but I had no idea there was an older brother who’d be home for the summer.

“Welcome,” he said. “Can I bring your bag to your room?”

“Sure,” I said, following him to the room beside his parents’ that I would share with his thirteen-year-old sister. A Tolkien book was cracked opened one of the twin pink-floral beds.

The next morning I woke up for my first day of work. As it turned out, I was one of a few salesgirls working in the store that summer and Simon was the manager. He gave me a personal tour and orientation which probably lasted longer than it should have.

One of my responsibilities was to assemble portable barbecues that arrived unassembled in boxes. Simon decided we attempt this task together. By the second day he and I had found a corner on the side of the store to perform the assembly. I handed him the screws and he put them in the appropriate holes and then tightened them. Every so often we’d look up at each other with a knowing smile laden with flirtatious undertones and these made the hours pass more quickly. 

On my third evening there, we stayed up late after everyone had said goodnight. We shared our first chuckle while sitting on the kitchen bar stools munching on chips and doing the daily crossword puzzle. 

The first of many laughing attacks began when we had both read the same crossword puzzle clue differently and came up with opposing answers. I thought the clue said, “belly-like sounds” and he thought it said, “bell-like sounds.” My answer was ‘gurgle’ and his was ‘ding dong.’ As it turned out, he was correct. 

Two weeks later, Simon was preparing to leave for his summer holiday to The Yukon Territory. During one of our late night meetings he invited me to join him on his adventure across the country.

“My parents will never let me go. My dad is really strict about stuff like that.”

“What if I write them a letter?”

“You can try, but I really doubt it’ll help.”

Simon must have written one incredible letter because my parents allowed me to take the trip. I was surprised because although I had been dating Michael for well over three months, they still hadn’t allowed him in my bedroom, even with the door ajar. 

While preparing our bags in the living room preparing the doorbell rang. Jeannine answered it. Through the corner of my eye, I spotted Michael, my old boyfriend from New York. He had driven his motorcycle all the way to Toronto to see me. His face was scared and old blood was caked on his eyebrows. His unshaven face and gruff demeanor was such a turn off. Jeannine called me to the door. She had a disappointed expression on her face.

She returned to the kitchen, and Michael tried to pull me close for a kiss, but I pulled back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I inquired.

“What kind of welcome is that?” he asked, “After driving all day and night to see you?”

I stepped outside to talk to him. I glanced up and spotted Jeannine peaking out the front window.

“Listen. I’m working here for the summer and I’m busy,” I continued. “Why did you come, anyway?”

“To visit you. I missed you.”

“Listen, Michael. It’s not going to work between us anymore. It’s just not.” The shock on his face did not move me to even invite him in for a drink. I knew it would be a bad mistake. 

“This is very uncomfortable for me,” I said, starting to pull open the door, “it’s just not going to work between us anymore.”

Michael tried kissing me again and I pulled away “I wished him a safe trip and entered the house without looking back. Had I not already fallen deeply in love with Simon I would have surely invited him inside, but I didn’t want Michael to jeopardize my budding relationship.

That evening Simon told me that his mother, mentioned that I showed little interest in Michael’s visit. This made Simon feel good. Essentially, Jeannine saved my new relationship.

By the end of July 1972, Simon and I were cruising along  the Alaskan Highway. We cruised in his orange Volkswagen Beetle (which, by the way, was my exact car) with his matching orange canoe was strapped to its roof. A grid was attached to the front windshield and headlights to protect the car from the flying pebbles ricocheting off the unpaved Alaskan Highway, which was approximately 1,200 miles long. Each day we stopped driving before sunset to set up camp and spent the remaining daylight hours reading. Not a day passed without me jotting a few pages in my journal. 

We often pitched our tent on the edge of a scenic cliff, the perfect place to gaze into one another’s eyes. Simon taught me, the city girl, wilderness survival rules. He had me paddling topless on the beautiful Lake Kluane and each night he made a fire and prepared the fresh catch of the day. For dessert we had freshly-picked berries. My job was to wash the dishes and encourage his hard work with gentle kisses. Those were the most magical weeks of my life.

Simon and I returned home fueled with love and energy. I headed back to New York to begin my first year of university, and Simon returned to Waterloo University in Canada to continue his studies in Science.  For two years we corresponded via love letters and long distance phone calls, until we both transferred to neighboring universities in upstate New York. 

Whatever stars united us, I must say that Simon entering my life was the best thing that has ever happened to me. He was and continues to be my very best friend and lover. There were so many parallels in our lives, which connected us—our parents were both Holocaust survivors and we were both loners who enjoyed reading and writing. Serendipity is a wonderful thing.

Today, our flame burns stronger now as we watch our three children, ages seventeen, twenty-one, and twenty-three, grow up into fine human beings. Together we have survived Simon beginning his own business, three high-risk pregnancies, the loss of parents, grandparents, troubled adolescent children, the suicide of loved ones, and my bout with breast cancer. We have stuck together throughout, and our love has carried us through.

I feel the same way about Simon today as I did at nineteen, when our eyes met on his parent’s balcony.  Now our relationship has the depth, intensity and weathering lines which come from spending years together, a scenario I never thought imaginable.