The weekend I went home, without you, I talked to my father about the thing you had said to me on the phone that Sunday night in January. He was already full of unasked questions about why you hadn’t come home with me, and I was hesitant to tell my parents too much. I was still thinking that we’d make it through this, and I didn’t want the emotion of what was happening between us to ever be cause of future contentions or doubt between you and my parents. But I did tell him this, because I needed to say it out loud to someone, and I needed to know for myself.

After having barely spoken to each other for several days, and about 2 hours into our phone conversation that night, you put it out there: “Let’s say, hypothetically, we decide one day to stop ignoring this thing between us and to go for it and get married. I drive to Pittsburgh to ask your father for his blessing. What do I tell him when he asks me if I’m going to convert to Mormonism? What do I tell him when he asks me how we’ll raise our children? I know how important your religion is to you, to your family. What if they don’t think I’m good enough because I don’t believe what you believe?”

I apologize if I paraphrased too much – but frankly I was so shocked for so many reasons that I wasn’t sure I heard you correctly. You’ve thought about marrying me? You’ve considered the possibility of driving to PGH to ask my father if you could marry me?? You’ve thought about us having children?!? You’re afraid my family will judge you? WHY HASN’T ANY OF THIS EVER COME UP IN CONVERSATION BEFORE NOW??

What I did was try to reassure you that my father wouldn’t do that. Tried to emphasize that I didn’t feel that way, and expressed that I hope I had never given you the impression that I did. I asked you in return if you’d ever keep me from exercising my beliefs, or from raising my children as LDS if that’s what I wanted. Negative to both. So…what’s the problem?

You didn’t seem to have been all that placated by my responses, and my mind was reeling by the conversation. So when Dad and I were alone that following weekend, I asked him about it. I thought I was confident of what he’d say, but I needed to hear it. I needed to know.

His mouth fell open when I told him what you had said. He asked if he had told you about the conversation he had with my brother-in-law 15 years ago. I didn’t know. It’s possible that I had told you at some point, or maybe Dad had brought it up, I didn’t know. My father set his jaw, shook his head emphatically, and said “you tell him that I’d be honored to have him as a son-is-law”. Said how much he likes you, enjoys your company. Then he asked if it might come to that, to marriage. I was quick to tell him that it wasn’t a conversation we were having…but that yeah, maybe someday, it could come to that. “I’ll write him a letter if it will help. I’ll call him, tell him myself that he does not need to worry about that from me. Do you want me to call him?” No, Dad. But thank you.

Weeks later I’m still asking myself why you chose that time to bring up that particular insecurity. Was it a last ditch effort, considering how rocky things had been that previous week? Did you think I was going to tell you that you’re right and the thought of us together is preposterous? I need for you to know that the thoughts of our religious differences has often crossed my mind too, but not in the same way. I’ve often wondered if you’d support me or hold me back if I ever decided to go back to church. If you’d be welcoming to young missionaries if I signed up to cook for them every now and again. If you’d ever consider opening your heart and mind to the idea of a loving Heavenly Father. But never did I think that my personal beliefs would preclude us from having a future together. Never did it cross my mind that it might be a cause of concern for you.

I’m genuinely sorry if I ever said or did anything to make you feel judged, or criticized, or uncomfortable with respect to the religion in which I was raised. I apologize on behalf of my friends and family if they have inadvertently given you poor impressions. And I’m rueful to think that you carried that idea – and maybe others like it – around with you for so long, without my knowing or doing anything to ease your burden.

I love you to the point that I am distraught just thinking about how that must have made you feel. I’m so sorry. I hope I get to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I cherish you, and adore you, and am grateful for you – religion or no religion.