How is this better?

The Philosopher is grieving.  24 hours has gone by and no word from the Multinational Special Agent. I have reread all our conversations since we met.  I had emailed them to myself over the months so I could always have a record of our exchanges.  There are some tough dialogues where we fought and got frustrated because messages were being received out of sync.  There were tough dialogues because not only are we 4,000 miles apart and even though we speak the same language, we do have cultural differences to bridge as well.  There were tough dialogues because we simply were frustrated that we could not crawl into each other's arms at that very moment and reassure each other that our love trumped all our frustrations.  However surrounding those tough dialogues multiple times over were the declarations of love and kindness and magic and passion and hope and gratitude for each other that touched my heart and made me soar.

For 119 days, my Multinational Special Agent, my Fox, was present in my life. He told me that there had been so many times when something would get him down, whether it was work or home-related didn't matter, and that the only thing that made him feel better was being able to talk to me.  For him, my love, made the rest of it worth dealing with.

I miss him.  Terribly. I miss being able to reach out to tell him I am thinking of him.  I miss being able to 'drive by kiss' him via text.  I miss having my Fox there to make my own life worth dealing with.  For 119 days, I knew I only had to reach out and from across the miles I would have a hug or a kiss that would come back to me.  Now, I have nothing.  How is this better for us?

I have replayed over and over the moment we were reunited after 107 days.  He walked into our room, my heart exploded with excitement and love.  My smile leaped off my face it was that big. I couldn't crawl off the bed fast enough to get straight into his arms.  And when I did, I was home, once again.  He held me so tight making us one body. It was beautiful.  It was magical.  It was love. Now every time I close my eyes, I see him, I feel him. And I go deep into my memories so I can see or feel something new each time.

Is this how I should be coping?  I don't know.  I don't want to push him out of my heart or brain.  I simply want to be walking hand in hand with him again. Kissing his cheeks because I am so deeply in love with him.  He knows I feel so safe when I am with him.  My Multinational Special Agent knows exactly how to care for and how to protect me.  And I miss him, dreadfully.

Was I supposed to have pleaded more and begged him not to leave me?  Had he wanted me to fight for him more?  What was I supposed to have done?  If so, let me have those days back and I will beg and I will plead.  I will put my arms around him and never let him go, never let him walk away from me leaving me to sob uncontrollably in our bed alone.

I think about him every moment just as I have since we met.  But there is no familiar vibration from my phone telling me he is thinking of me too.  I wonder how he is doing.  Is he happy to be rid of me?  Or is he sad and gutted and hurting and grieving like me?  Does he wish his phone would vibrate with kisses from me?

And I ask the universe over and over, how is all this pain really better for us than what we had?  How is all this pain and longing and tears and loneliness necessary?  Isn't there some other way to manage & to grow our love until we can be together again and together permanently?

I ask her to keep him safe, to protect his heart, to have my loving spirit envelop him daily and to bring me back into his arms and his world sooner rather than later.

And even though I know I shouldn't, I keep my phone close by, looking at his pictures, reading his texts, listening to his voicemail messages.  He is still my escape, my go-to guy and he always will be.

I miss my Fox.  I love my Fox, simply, madly and truly.  

This is definitely not better.

Ka-Pow

"It should have been simply a one-night stand."  He said that as we were facetiming after a particularly hard discussion about where our relationship was not going.

It was the first glimpse into what I believe was his original intent when we met.  How were we supposed to know though that it was going to be far more than a simple one-night stand?  How do we ever know?

Ka-Pow
He was leaning on the back of my bar stool when I returned from dancing.  He was talking to another girl.  I slipped into my seat and smiled up at him.  I said, "Hi I'm the Minivan Philosopher."  He smiled back and said,"Hi I'm the Multinational Special Agent."  I grinned, ahh a british accent!  And said coyly, "you're not from here are you?"  He replied, "No. I'm from London."  And I was immediately intrigued.

Flirting commenced.  The other girl he had been speaking to attempted to bring his focus back to her but that was not happening.  Our conversation was flowing fast and furious.  We were making connection after connection as our lives and our interests were, frightenly, similarly aligned.  It was new, it was exciting.  And when he said he could dance the salsa and then proceeded to twirl me and dip me, I was hooked. 

Then the bar lights came up.  The band stopped playing.  And we stood there not wanting to leave each other yet.  So we continued on in his room since he was staying at the hotel.  I had never just gone with a man to his hotel room like that before.  I was nervous but I also wasn't ready to quit talking to him.  We were laughing so much.  He was getting my humor and I just loved hearing him say my name.  Only the British can make "Minivan Philosopher" sound sexy.

We talked for several more hours.  And when he finally leaned in to kiss me the first time, it was immediately apparent that not only were we matched perfectly in our intellect and humor but our kissing was electric too.

When I left to go home, we made plans to see each other the next night.  Again another magical night.  Again deeper connections intellectually, physically, emotionally.  And as I laid in his arms knowing I had to leave soon, tears began to flow from my eyes.  Why did someone so perfectly matched for me have to live 4,000 miles away?  Why?

He said to me as he walked me to my car, "I should take you up to the rooftop and propose to you."  I quickly answered into his ear, "I would say yes."  We exchanged kisses at my car, he kissed the tears running down my cheeks.  He held me tight.  I asked him to keep in touch.  I said I could not bear living without him in my life now that I had met him.  He squeezed me and said, "I'm here baby doll"

Since that night we met, he has talked to me every single day.  We have spent several days together on several occasions that continue to prove just how magical the love and connection that we have really is.  He has managed to make 4,000 miles disappear.  He does that with a lot of effort on his part, I know.

In that time, his complicated life situation (family, divorce- it's back on and it's back off, job - assignments: the multinational special agent goes places and sees things us ordinary humans would never go nor would ever want to see) has pulled on him and his desire to permanently erase the 4,000 miles between us.

So we laid there, fingers intertwined, I was cocooned in his arms, my tears drenching his chest, not wanting to let any minute or second pass by where I wasn't recording his every breath for my repository of Special Agent memories, and he said he had to go.  He said he had to leave me for now.  He said he planned to come get me and carry me with him when he got his life sorted.  We had talked about this before.  He had said all along it was going to be his plan after our last night together.  Still didn't make it hurt any less.  Still didn't keep our hearts from breaking into a million pieces.  Still didn't keep the sobs from flowing when we parted. 

The Multinational Special Agent did not intend to fall in love with me when we met.  He did not intend to find his heart and soul linked to mine in a way he had never experienced before.  He did not intend to miss me like he did.  Nor did I.

Now he is gone and I pick up the pieces of our shattered hearts not knowing which are his and which are mine but carefully blend them together where they have been since we met.  He is off saving the world and sorting his life.  While me, the Philosopher, reluctantly grieves.

No, this was never ever supposed to be a simple one-night stand.

Almost Lover

Sometimes I don’t know what is expected of me.  Or what I should do?  How is it that two times now I have loved men who say they can’t give me what I need right now?  But that in the future they can?  How is it that they want to walk away from me and come get me later? 

 

Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out of my life? – A Fine Frenzy, Almost Lover

Is it all an illusion?  Is it all a heartless trick?  How can it seem that, over and over, I am left alone?  I wish I knew the answers.  I wish I could be told to “hold on for another six months and you’ll find that it will all work out for you.”  And I wish I would believe it if I were told that.

One morning I was driving along Kingshighway and had stopped at the red light at Chippewa.  I noticed and watched a middle-aged couple (I assumed they were a couple by the way they were standing close to each other and walking.  I assumed they were somewhere between 30 and 50 based on the way their skin looked.  I do not know for a fact that they were a couple but by all outward appearances and behaviors it registered in my brain as though they were.)

I watched this man and woman venture into the crosswalk.  He was pushing the shopping cart which appeared to have their belongings in it and she was walking next to it.  She did not look healthy.  It could have been from years of drug and/or alcohol abuse.  But who really knows?  They crossed the street and the man kept his focus on making sure she got across safely.  Once across, they walked to the Jack in the Box parking lot.  The man tenderly took the woman’s hand and led her to a bench and put the cart next to her.  It appeared he was telling her to stay right there as he was going to go inside.  She nodded her head and he went inside. 

My light turned green and I had to continue my journey north on Kingshighway.  I finished their story in my mind.  He went inside and took what little money he could spare and bought her a meal.  He didn’t have enough for both of them but he didn’t care because he knew she’d offer him a bite or two of the burger, some of the fries and of course a few swallows of the soda.  They sat on the bench outside with the sun’s warmth on their faces eating their meal enjoying the fleeting moments of relaxation before they needed to continue walking to find a place to sleep for the night.  And when they got up to go, he held his hand out to her, she clasped it and they continued up the hill together.

I was touched by the scene I witnessed and more touched by the finished story in my mind.  But what hit me most was that here were two people who by all material ‘standards’ were not doing well but yet they still had each other.  They had love.  They had companionship.  They had each other.  She had someone who cared for her, who wanted to make sure she was all right.  And I was envious.  I cried out, frustrated, to the Universe and said “even the homeless people have partners!” 

It seems unfair at times that no matter what I do, say, look like or how high I jump, I still sleep alone.  I push my own shopping cart across the street.  I eat alone and enjoy the sun’s radiance alone.  And when I get soooo close to the reality of being loved again by another person (another adult that is), it seems to dissolve right before my eyes.  And I’m left shaking my head wondering what is the matter with me?

I have a male friend whom I have watched have several girlfriends since his divorce.  His latest one has thrown my confusion about relationships into an even bigger spin.  He met Girlfriend B after breaking up with Girlfriend A.  Girlfriend A seemed to restrict her time with him to when neither of them had their children.  Girlfriend B came along and within weeks of meeting him took his spare key and after the fact said, “I hope you don’t mind.” And then she started to stay at his house a few days a week, then a few weeks a month and then she was never gone.  When he told me this, I was floored.  How was this even acceptable?  He told me that Girlfriend B didn’t have a place of her own right now and was tired of living with her mom.  That was a year ago.  She is still there.  They have updated their Facebook statuses to reflect being “in a relationship”. 

When I see them, I shake my head internally because I can’t believe my friend just let her move in and take over his life.  I know that part of my disappointment is that he and I no longer get to talk like we used to.  He was a good friend and I miss him.  But there’s nothing I can do because those are his choices.  I also couldn’t imagine how a woman could feel good about herself when she was using a man like that.  But in the end, she got what she wanted.

I have a job that supports my three children and me.  I have a home.  I have friends.  I am in control and independent because I have had to for survival. I am not a basket case or homeless.  But my heart aches and I sleep alone.

Basket case… yes, the first man to whom I gave my heart, years after my ex-husband left, chose to remain married to his basket case, alcoholic wife.  He resurfaced about a year later and said that this time he was going to go through with the divorce.  I wanted to believe him.  I did for a while.  I had even let myself dream of our life together, post his divorce.  Yet it became ever more apparent that he wouldn’t be able to go through with it.  He fell for every manipulative trick she employed.  The basket case and alcoholic who can’t keep a job and has minimal friends will remain partnered and will have a companion who will take care of her.  She got what she wanted.

And yet, I believed that surely someone must love me.  If the homeless people can be a couple, if my friend can be a couple with the girl who moved in, if the basket case/alcoholic & the first man who took my heart post my divorce can remain a couple, surely there’s got to be someone for me.

And then I thought it had happened for me, for real, this time.

And it is good and it is beautiful and it is magical.  And it has its challenges.  And it has been growing and morphing and solidifying. 

And I dream of our life together.  I talk about him with my friends.  I am genuinely excited about him and in love with him.  I am willing to be exclusive with him.  To take that step of showing my commitment to developing our relationship, that I’m not keeping “one eye open” for someone else to come along.  That I’m ready to be a couple in the crazy challenged situation that we are in…

And he says, “I’m sorry I can’t be the BF you want right now.  I need to sort out my life like we discussed and then track you down.”

So again, whatever it is about me, is not enough to have someone want to be with me and to share his life with me through whatever those challenges are, to get to the point where there are no obstacles and it’s just us.  It seems that the prospect of living without me isn’t all that heartbreaking.

Somehow I missed the lecture on being a homeless, manipulative basket case/alcoholic, who just moves her stuff in… and therefore, I sleep alone.

Soccer Mom, that's me.

So this year I, along with another mother, are coaching the 4th grade boys soccer team.  And it  has been a ton of fun so far.  They are a really great group of boys.  We've had some wins, some losses, some ties.  We are a well-rounded soccer team.

So after one early morning game, William and I are in the car heading to his older brother's game when he says, "I am sooo glad you are coaching us Mom!  So glad!"

"Sure William.  I'm glad to do it."

"And you looked so pretty today on the field kicking the ball with Sam with the sun behind you when I arrived this morning."

"Really?"

"Yes mom, really"

"Aw thanks, William.  You made my day."

I really don't mind being this kind of soccer mom.  Would you?

RIP Beth

I wrote about death a couple years back after my grandmother passed away.  It was expected because she was in her 90s.  She had lived a long full life.  She had loved and been loved.  She had travelled.  She had knocked down barriers for women in the workplace.  Grandma had lived.  So although it hurt tremendously when she passed away (and I still miss her today), I expected to experience that grief.  That was a normal part of getting older.  I may not have liked it but I knew that eventually it would happen.  I was resigned to accepting it because I knew I couldn’t change that simple fact that death always follows life.

But when a death occurs that is totally and completely unexpected, how do you accept that?  How is that a normal part of getting older?  How do you not feel angry and gypped for yourself and for your friend whose life is now over?  I don’t know. 

My friend, Beth, was a sorority sister of mine.  She was a year younger than me.  She was incredibly talented.  I can’t remember exactly how many of her designs became our party t-shirts but I’m pretty sure I still have at least one in my closet.  I remember Beth as a twenty-something because that is how old she was the last time I saw her alive.  I would see her postings on Facebook and be completely speechless at how beautiful she had become (not that she wasn’t beautiful in college but there was an added dimension of wisdom and confidence in her beauty now that wasn’t there in college.  But then how many of us can say we had that wisdom and confidence in our 20s either?) 

I would smile at pictures of her with her girls.  I would “like” her postings.  Facebook made it possible for me to continue to ‘know’ her and be happy for her as she journeyed through life.  And now her journey is over here among the living.  She doesn’t get any more time to love and be loved.  She doesn’t get any more time to change the lives of people she meets.  She doesn’t get any more time to impact her daughters’ lives with nuggets of wisdom (like what to wear on your first date, how to be taken seriously as a woman, how to be able to turn your passion into your career, how to know if you are really in love, and how to care for their own children to come.  I could go on and on but that knowledge hurts too much.)   She doesn’t get any more time to be blissful and joyful, to laugh, to dance, to have a beer on a sunny, breezy afternoon with her friends.  She doesn’t get to be an old woman.   Her journey is over here among us.

There are so many sayings and clichés to help you deal with grief.  There are always lessons to be had in every situation.  I’m not writing this to make me or you feel better.  I’m writing it because it’s true and it sucks.  Big. Time.

My life is fuller because part of her journey included me.  I will always see her smiling and hear her laughing.  I will grieve and I will get past my sadness and anger because, apparently, I am growing up, reluctantly. 

And I promise to live and to love fully every day.

Godspeed, Beth.  See you on the other side.