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Love is blind

I found my heart's desire without even looking...


Published by: Karen Armstrong
Published on: 11th February 2010

My stomach was in knots as I nervously played with my napkin, waiting in the restaurant for my blind date. Well, I say blind date... but we'd actually met. We just had no idea what one another looked like!
That's because, like me, the guy I was meeting was blind.
I'd met Steve Rebus, 34, at a charity event a week before, while working for the Royal National Institute of Blind People.
My blindness means that during daylight hours, I can just about make out bright colours and the outline of body shapes.
Standing there chatting, I'd seen someone tall heading towards me. Although I couldn't make out their face, they certainly smelled nice, like Lynx.
'I'm Steve,' a lovely deep voice had said.
We got chatting.
'Describe yourself to me,' I'd smiled.
'Well, when I last saw myself I had a brown ponytail,' he'd laughed. 'But I've been blind for the past six years.'
'Wow!' I replied, softly.
'You'd probably never say yes to a date with a stranger but... do you fancy having dinner with me sometime?' he'd asked.
'Yes,' I'd squeaked.
I gave him my number which he memorised.
Now here I was, waiting for my gorgeous date to arrive - well, he sounded like he was gorgeous!
A waft of that aftershave told me he was standing at the table.
'Hi,' he said.
'Hello,' I replied, nervously.
I was a bit out of practise with the dating game.
Back when I was 15 I became diabetic and, 15 years later this caused the blood vessels in my eyes to burst, taking most of my sight. So for the next five years I'd been coming to terms with life in the dark, instead of dating boys.
Steve made me feel so relaxed, though.
He was six years younger than me, and had lost his sight at 24 because of undiagnosed blood pressure problems.
'I was a panel-beater at the time, but gave it up,' he added. 'But I'm still a drummer in a band called Union Blues.'
We had a lot in common - we both refused to carry a cane or have a guide dog. Instead, we relied on our senses.
'So, can you see anything?' I asked. 'I can only make out shapes during the day.'
'I'm the same, out the corner of my right eye,' he laughed. 'But I see better at night.'
'We're the perfect team then!' I chuckled.
Steve really was my Mr Right. I could guide us during the day, and he could be my eyes
at night!
Over the following few weeks, we
started dating.
If we met in the afternoon for a walk in the park, I'd take Steve's hand and lead the way, as I was able to make out the large patches of green grass and snaking grey footpaths.
Then, as darkness fell, Steve would take control, guiding me in and out of restaurants and reading me the menu using a powerful magnifying glass.
He even knew how to treat me to gifts I could really enjoy.
Like on Valentine's Day when he gave me a huge bunch of roses. It didn't matter that I couldn't see them - their beautiful scent filled the house for a week.
And there was more...
Steve held something up. I ran my fingers over it. What on earth?!
Something smooth, hard, with lines cut into it. Hang on they seemed to spell out words.
'I... love... you...?' I read aloud. Bless him, he'd carved the words into an old drum skin. 'I love you, too!' I gasped back.
A year later, Steve moved in, along with his boxer dog Bruce.
And seven months later, he proposed.
Holding hands as we walked around Derby Cathedral on a weekend break, I felt Steve let go of my hand.
'What are you doing?' I asked.
'Bending down on one knee,' he replied, popping the question.
And for the wedding day itself, we made sure we could see as much of it as possible.
Steve wore a black suit and bright yellow shirt so I could make him out at the end of the aisle. And I carried bright yellow sunflowers so they'd stand out in the photos. Under a very bright light, I can just about make out the bouquet.
On our honeymoon in Old Hunstanton, Norfolk, we continued to work as a team. I helped Steve walk along the beach. Then, when night fell, Steve described the restaurants to me so we could decide where to eat.
We may have lost our sight, but we've found each other - and proved love really is blind.
Sarah Rebus, 40, Epsom, Surrey