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.

Cramped space, crammed words

I ran to my room and grabbed my journal. I had to write down my feelings and thoughts regarding Mike again. He had called to say goodbye, that he couldn't do it any more. I wanted to record my pain, yet again. And I flipped through the pages, pen in hand ready to write, when I got all the way to the end of the journal and I had less than 1/4 page available for ALL my thoughts! I sat there shocked because how could I possibly put everything I was feeling down in such a small space? I didn't have another journal available and I really didn't want to continue this story into a new, fresh one. So I thought and thought and finally wrote: "he called, he can't do it anymore. He said goodbye" There was no room left for me to write my endless speculations about whether he will come back to me for the fourth time. There was no room left for me to moan and complain about my "situation." The journal was done. It had run out of pages. No more am I to write about this, it seemed. This journal has patiently recorded and held for me the last 8 years of heartaches, betrayals, hurts, longings, tears, frustrations and epiphanies. It is now time for a new journal and a new journey to start for me. If Mike comes back again, it can only be as a single, divorced man because there is no room for the old re-hashed story of loving me and leaving me in my new journal and my new life.

If feels good to close the old one, lock it up and put it away. It feels good to move past all those hurts and heartaches that continually wove itself through the journal's pages. It feels good to look at a fresh blank page. I am not naive; I know there will be some hurts and more as I continue on my journey but the weight of the last 8 years has been lifted with the last entry on the page: "Thank you for being in my life. I love you and I will miss you. I wish you peace."

Tuesdays with Mike

Tuesdays seem to be the day you make decisions. What happens to prompt you to make them on Tuesdays? You told me in June (on a Tuesday) that you wanted to give her one more chance. So we cooled off and you went incommunicado for months. However, you called my voicemail to hear my voice and drove by my house to check on me. Then you contacted me again in September and said you couldn't live with the instability in your life anymore. So you proceeded with your divorce. Then in October you cancelled it and saw me on a Tuesday to tell me why. You said you were confused and you felt you needed to give her one more chance. I asked how many "one more chances" did she get? So we say goodbye. I am hurt. I am angry. But I believe in my heart you will be back. And you do, you come back one week later. I am cautious but happy to see you, talk to you, hear your voice and touch you. Everything feels right as if it is supposed to be this way - you and me together. I was happy to take baby steps with you if that meant we would be together. You changed your work location to be closer to me. She continued to drink. You continued to be faced with upheaval in your life. I tried to be constant. I tried to bring you joy and smiles. It seemed like it was working. Then Tuesday, one week ago, you called and said you can't do this anymore. That you have to figure out your life. That you want to be open and honest in your relationships and that you love her and have feelings for me and you just can't do it anymore. That you don't want to hurt me anymore. So you said goodbye to me. I was not surprised. I was somewhat relieved because I kept waiting for the day when you would say goodbye again and disappear again. I was sad because I do love you and us together. I hope that when your marriage is over, you try to reach out to me. That you try to see where I am. You said to me that if we are meant to be together, it will happen. I would like to believe that too, but as long as you continue to give her one more chance, you prevent what was "meant to be".

I shrug my shoulders and sigh. I know you are thinking about me and that you will think about me everyday as I you. But I will not contact you anymore. I am moving on and if we are "meant to be", I hope the universe makes it happen in this lifetime and not the next. And preferably not on a Tuesday.