I met someone a few months ago through an on-line dating site, DF. The whole experience for me has been so weird, I guess it is for a lot of people in my situation. Having left the dating world before the internet took it over, it’s been a tough world to navigate. Especially since I have gotten very skittish every time someone has paid attention to me. I sort of freak out and play it all out in my head. But the other side of that is that I automatically have put up some armor to protect myself and in a way to protect others from me.
Except for one person. I know it sounds like I fell really hard, but in actuality I don’t think I did. I’m not even sure if I could have fallen for him down the line. But who’s to say. The best part is that I wasn’t afraid to if that was going to happen. This person, DF, somehow really got in my head. But in a way neither of us expected. He was just one of those people who got through and they are not so common right now. One other person has managed to do this in the last few years. He was another friend of mine, H. We went to high school together and weren’t even really acquaintances back then. The casual” hi ” in the hallway. Fast forward several years and we made contact through my high school website and somehow found some common interests through politics and music. Those two things seemed to cement our friendship as adults. About a year ago, H had a Christmas party, one that I attended with my husband and daughter. It was so fun, I saw people I hadn’t seen since high school and I just had a great time. H and I were getting closer, as friends, but in the middle of the party he started talking to me about my marriage and how it was failing and the fact that I was holding on to something that just wasn’t working. I’ll never forget one specific moment, H flat-out said “Don’t you deserve to be happy?” What a simple statement, yet it rocked me to my core. I felt like the room faded away when he said that. I couldn’t breathe and felt like there was a spotlight on us. (Unfortunately, his fiancee saw the whole thing and decided something was going on between us. There’s way more to this story that I’ll share another time.) I knew he was right and that I was on the crux of either staying and sacrificing myself or leaving and trying to make my way toward a fulfilling life. I don’t know why he got through since many of my friends felt the same way but sometimes that one little voice manages to make its way through. .
Fast forward to the present and DF. We had a few things going against us: distance, he lived in NYC and that was a bit impractical for our situations. I’m a single mom, with all my time taken up by my daughter. He was a cool, single, unencumbered NYC guy who wanted to go out all the time and I think have a girlfriend who was available. It was so difficult for me since I was so attracted to him and knowing that he was still looking and I wasn’t looking, hurt. Not because I thought this was the end-all, be-all, just that I was happy with him and didn’t feel the need to look anywhere else. But the thing that changed was that I wasn’t angry or jealous. Part of me didn’t want him to meet anyone else, but a bigger part of me couldn’t root against his happiness. That was my first inkling that this guy was different. I was able to put his interests first and felt like we could have been true friends.
Another big part of this was that I was so afraid I would get hurt. Not intentionally mind you, but that feeling of rejection, whether or not it’s personal. I just had the feeling that we weren’t going to end up together but I wanted to see where this could go. We were open and honest. He told me when he had a problem with me, ie., I talked too much and he was right. He also pointed out to me that I tend to become very solitary while he’ll go out, just to go out. That is the one that hit me like a ton of bricks. We were still talking about the dating site and he observed that I needed to get out and take more chances. Strange because if any other guy I was dating and liked had told me to go out with more people, I would have been so offended but with DF I wasn’t. I knew that he was saying this only because he cared about me as a person. No ulterior motive, not a passive-aggressive way to get rid of me or hurt my feelings. I felt like I was dealing with an adult but more than that, a friend. What a lovely feeling that was.
Of course, he moved to another state this week. He told me that he was broke. My first reaction was one of relief. I was relieved that we wouldn’t eventually be uncomfortable with the financial inequity in our situations. I was also so convinced I would eventually get hurt, this way I was relieved that it was ending in a way that I wouldn’t. Turns out when I told him of my fears, he said “You don’t know that” and that is true and I didn’t see that until then. When we saw each other last week, he told me his reason for leaving was two-fold. One was that nothing was happening for him in NY in terms of his career, he’s a writer. But the other part is that one of his childhood friends is gravely ill and his family needs DF’s help. Well that just shattered everything I had been thinking about him. My admiration for him to do this just grew. And then I realized something. I realized that what was happening wasn’t about me and my growth and allowing someone in, it was about DF and where he needs to be. All along I’m sitting here, stuck in my own head trying to learn the lesson from this. And I did learn some great lessons, that I don’t have to run when I’m scared, and that the future isn’t set in stone no matter what I think. I owe him a great debt to show me that I have to put myself out there. But the real lesson is that DF is just a great guy. And he has responsibilities too. And that the universe is putting him where he is needed. I don’t know, I can’t explain but it just seems like the trajectory of DF’s life is putting him exactly where he should be. And it has nothing to do with me.
As short as the time was, DF had such an impact on me. I was able to like someone just for the sake of liking them. I was able to enjoy myself and just have fun and that hasn’t happened in a long time. I was able to deal with the fear of getting hurt and keep myself out there anyway. I guess I felt safe with him. I didn’t have to hide my love away, and I’m not sure what about him made me realize that. I guess it’s his kind soul and big heart. But for now, I’m optimistic about the future of my love life. I know that if it happened once it can happen again. We had had some miscommunications at first and both of us thought that we were blowing each other off. Instead of just jumping to conclusions, I communicated with him. That hadn’t happened with anyone in a really long time. I took a chance with someone who made it safe for me to take a chance. And I feel like DF was instrumental in helping me get back to my own true self. He didn’t break my heart, he stretched it and that has only made it bigger and more resilient in a way.
When we were saying goodbye, DF kept saying we’ll keep in touch and he’s only two states away and I can come visit. I’m not sure if that’s going to happen. I could see myself getting too wrapped up and using him as an excuse to keep someone else away. I also can’t shake the feeling that he’s where he’s supposed to be and that I’m not supposed to be a part of it. And in the scheme of things, that’s okay no matter how much it stings right now. And that’s the best lesson of all. Pain is part of life, transitions take place whether or not you fight them. And if I continue to keep on the Kevlar vest around my heart, I’m going to fulfill the prophesy that I will be alone. DF made me want to take a chance. And for that I am so grateful he came into my life. I hope I can figure out how to remain friends with him, but if we don’t I’ll always have the fondest memories and I wish him nothing but a good and wonderful life. I do hope that he comes back and finds me someday though. I think we could be great friends at the very least. And his theme song in my head will always be “Scarlet Begonias” by the Grateful Dead. There’s a line; “Once in a while you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right” Truer words have never been spoken. I love your soul and very essence, DF, take care.
My sophomore year of high school was really strange. It started out great, for some reason I started to become popular and the year started out on a high note. Of course in my life that always is going to change into some nightmare. Easter of that year was rough, my grandma who lived with us died and we were very close. She had a stroke at home and before she went to the hospital all she talked about was me. That did not make my aunts and mother very happy. She also left most of her belongings to me, leaving out her daughters and their children. To this day I don’t really know why but that was par for the course. It seemed that my family thought the way to my heart was through their wallets. How wrong they were.
When grandma died, I thought my life was going to change for the better. I figured without her there Uncle Quicksand and Aunt Crazy wouldn’t have reason to come visit and make me miserable. Wrong in such a big way. My dad got a fellowship to Tulane and he and my mom headed off to New Orleans for a bit. So, in my mother’s infinite wisdom it was decided that Uncle Quicksand and his wife would come and stay with me, since a fifteen year old could not be trusted alone for that long. In a way they were right, I know I would have had wild parties and probably wouldn’t have gone to school. But I find it hard to believe that there was not other solution. So again the nightmare begins. Aunt Crazy always criticized everything about me, due to her insanity I suppose. There was this undercurrent of resentment from her, as if I as a child was seducing her husband. Never once did she think that she was married to Humbert Humbert and he was the one who was wrong.
Uncle Quicksand spent almost every night in my room during that period. I would just lay there waiting for it to be over, afraid to move, afraid to scream, afraid of everything. In a way it was easier to accept the horror that I knew rather than speak up and open the door to a new nightmare. The devil you know, I guess. And then I would go to school the next day and not share my secret with anyone.
About a month after the latest saga in “The Land of Poor Judgment” I noticed that I didn’t get my period. Uncle Quicksand always made sure he didn’t ejaculate inside me, but I suppose he was excited that he had all this time with me. And the fact that Aunt Crazy blamed me most likely made him feel like the victim here too. He would tell me it was my fault because I was so pretty and sexy and I made it so he couldn’t help himself. I didn’t know what to do in my dilemma. I talked to my friends without disclosing the father and none of us had a clue. It was such a conflict for me. Part of me was overwhelmed by the fact that I had a baby in me (that I had named Jesse) and the other part was overwhelmed because I had a monster’s child in me. I just felt sick all the time. A girl I knew told me that I needed to tell my parents about the pregnancy and she was right.
I’ll never forget that night. My dad was still working and my mother was in the kitchen. I told her I needed to talk to her. I just said “I’m pregnant.” and she responded with “I knew it.” I still don’t know what she meant by that, did she mean that she always expected the worst from me or was my behavior suspicious. Either way, once again she never bothered to ask me what was going on. She asked me who the father was and I wouldn’t tell her. I couldn’t . She called my dad and he came home and I saw his face fall. Then I saw the anger and rage. I was called every name in the book from tramp to slut. I was told that I ruined my life and that I have so many opportunities if I could just see them. Yeah, so many opportunities to be raped by your brother-in-law was all I could think. I went to my room for a bit to listen to them scream at each other and to my mom cry for her mother, it was so horrible. I went back into the kitchen and was sitting there and out of the corner of my eye I saw some motion coming at me. It was my dad and he just lost it. The next thing I knew both of his hands were around my neck and I really couldn’t believe this was happening but he was strangling me. I felt the pins and needles in my head and my eyes bulging out. Holy crap, is this really happening, is he actually trying to kill me? I could hear him yelling “Slut, you’re just like your mother” (my birth mother was 16 and unmarried.) I knew my mom was trying to get him off me, one of the few, if only time, she ever protected me. I guess he snapped out of it and let go. But then again the rage kicked in and right next to him was an iron that was now bashing me in the side of the head. I don’t remember how I got out of the kitchen. I ended up missing a week of school not because of the pregnancy but because I had hand prints around my neck and the side of my face was swollen from being hit with a heavy metal object.
I don’t recall if my sister came over that night or the next day, but her reaction was pretty much the same sans the extreme violence since her abuse was more emotional than anything. She flat out asked me if it was Uncle Quicksand’s. How bizarre is that? To think that they all knew or at the very least had an inkling and not only did nothing but repeatedly placed me in situations to be alone with him boggles the mind. It was decided that I would have an abortion. I really think that was the best thing since I probably would have been disgusted by how this child came about. But of course my mother had to add “Your father is a doctor, he give life he doesn’t take it away.” So now I am supposed to feel like a murderer and feel sorry for the rest of my family for what I am putting them through? It really never ended for me.
It was decided that my sister would take me to the clinic. They also all decided that I would be awake for this for some reason which was one of the most horrific experiences of my life. It was painful, I was scared and I felt this horrible guilt, and I still do. But I had nobody, never really did if you think about it. As she was driving me back to my parents’ my sister said she needed a sweater to go out that night and we had to stop at the mall. I didn’t want to go and we argued and of course I lost since I never had any recourse. There I was, I just had aborted my child of rape at fifteen, was in pain, was weak and trying to hold it together and all she could think of was her goddamn sweater. And she wonders why I have no relationship with her now? I got home and mom in her infinite wisdom tell me that I should never tell anyone this. She had a really great reason for her line of thinking: “No one will want to marry you if they know you had an abortion.” Well done, Mom.
So maybe life will get back to normal now. Guess again. I went back to school and a few days later an acquaintance of mine asks me if I had an abortion. I can’t even explain the shock I felt and couldn’t imagine what happened that she found out. Here’s where it gets even crazier. There was a boy in my school who was such a jerk. You know that type, teasing people in such a malicious way that was really hurtful. Well, his sister worked at the clinic and saw my name and told this guy. And of course he never thought about how rough it may be for me, he instead decided to spread it around school. I would walk down the hall while he and his cronies would mutter “Abortion” under their breath. Nice huh? Now I know that I wasn’t the one who was wrong but back then he was destroying me. His sister so completely violated my privacy that I think it borders on illegal. And he was just an asshole. But that just added to my shame and confusion.
It was if a bad situation was being tempered by people whose only motive was to make it worse. I don’t know what the boy at school got out of shaming me, I don’t know what my sister got out of treating me like garbage. And I’ll never know. And I don’t focus on it. There are really no answers to a lot of questions I have about how I grew up. I find it difficult to think that some people are just unkind, I try to think that something must have happened to them too. But to take it out on me the way it was is unconscionable. Maybe it’s because I was so beaten down that they knew I couldn’t fight back. I don’t really care anymore. I’m happy that I”m me and not them. I just know that I wouldn’t have made the same decisions. It’s hard to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, but I do like to think that if I were any of the other players in this story besides me, a bit of compassion and empathy would come into play. All I knew that I lived in constant fear in my own home. Even the most ordinary days were spent waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was if I had this ordinary looking life from the outside but in actuality in order to get anywhere I had to take the path that was the most painful. Kind of like walking on broken glass.
My sister (E) had a horrible marriage. We were always so different (thank God) as she always wanted the whole shebang of a nuclear family. I don’t think I did, I valued my freedom and it was hard to know what normal families were like. I saw normal people at my friends’ houses but in a way, deep down I always thought they were just putting up a front. I really had a hard time believing that people truly loved each other and were supportive and protective. I just couldn’t believe that nurturing love existed.I wanted it, but I felt like I would just be chasing windmills and chose to avoid it and take the road that would offer me excitement. I always just figured when the right person came along, who wouldn’t bore me or judge me then I would be happy.
E met her husband (S) when she moved to the southeast. He was from a prominent southern family who had been granted land by King George II. I think that made her want that status, since that was what seemed to motivate her in general. They really didn’t get along at first, and one New Year’s Eve things between them just clicked I guess. Eand S had a strange courtship. Their personalities were as opposite as can be. He was actually more like me, a bit wild, somewhat irresponsible and very outgoing. He could roll with the punches, while E would freak out if anything went off-script. S didn’t care much about status, the size of someone’s house or what car they drove. When E would describe someone, those were the first things she mentioned. They got engaged on Christmas after about a year, which was the result of an ultimatum, good move huh? I really don’t know why he succumbed to the pressure. She would relentlessly criticize his family for the most minor infractions: dressing comfortably, watching football etc. It was kind of ridiculous and annoying. They seemed happy enough but that wasn’t enough for her.
The morning of her wedding was pandemonium. They were screaming at each other for whatever reason, I remember him calling her a bitch. All I could wonder was “is this how it is?” I know people are nervous but this was crazy. Then morning even got worse when she couldn’t find her diamond earrings and accused me of stealing them. I was flabbergasted since she always was irresponsible with jewelry and here I was trying to make the most of this day and instead being on trial.Par for the course, since she really is unwell.
A few years into their sentence, they had a son. Today he is a messed up adolescent who gets expelled and spent time in a therapeutic boarding school. He used to call me to tell me that his parents are always fighting. I did my best to comfort him, since I had grown up with the same volatility that surrounds E. I could see her doing the same things to him that she did to me and it was heartbreaking. One of her lowest moments came one Easter weekend. I don’t remember what started it, it was usually something minor, but it was bad. E went into her bedroom with my nephew and handed him a small bag of pot and told him “Go give this to your father” and he did. S went nuts, as I would have too. I really can’t imagine putting your child in that position and just trying so hard to hurt someone no matter what the collateral damage is. He came in yelling and she wouldn’t get out of his face. She pulled the usual thing that she used to do with my father, getting an inch or two away from his face and just say over and over ‘Are you going to hit me?” She is one of those people who cries abuse when it didn’t happen. She claimed for years that she was covered in bruises from various people, including my father which 100% didn’t happen, but when she was asked to show them, they always had faded. Even when she and her high school boyfriend had broken up, she cried abuse and actually admitted years later that it was a lie, but even in admitting it, she saw nothing wrong with it.
After fourteen years of ridiculousness, E claimed that she received a phone call from on of S’ paramour out of the blue. He had been having affairs since they hadn’t had sex in nine years and she was such a miserable person to be around I really don’t blame him. I still remember the phone call from her since it began with ‘You know how I never ask your for anything?” which is an unbelievably unbalanced way to talk to someone. She wanted me to get on the next plane since she was so upset, which I did. My husband I went down and by the time we got there, their separation had spiraled into S trying to kill her. She was telling these tales of him spying on her, the neighbors spying on her for him and something involving a missing girl in their state. I was listening to this thinking that it couldn’t be true but at the same time, I had grown up in such craziness that I always felt like I was the one who was wrong. So I just went with it. It really was crazy, but whenever I said something to that effect, I was told I was in denial.
My nephew was away at camp for this and we all went to pick him up. The previous day, E had bought a new car and we dropped them off to pick it up. On the way home, instead of having a tender talk by both parents that would reassure him, E just blurted out that she and S were divorcing and S was having an affair. My nephew was eleven at the time. I was so disgusted. I couldn’t believe that she either hated S more than she loved her son or she just thrives on pity so much that it doesn’t matter who she destroys as long as she get attention. I still don’t know which one it is, probably both. By the time I got back to the house, she announced that her son had run away. I found him and we talked and I calmed him down.
The next few weeks back in NYC were a haze of endless phone calls from E. Literally my phone rang every few minutes if I didn’t pick up and when I did I would be berated because I wasn’t available to her. It was a constant barrage of irrational accusations against S. The missing girl, missing money, neighbors spying on her with a baby monitor., her alarm going off. It was just nuts and I kept telling her that if this is true then she should call the police. Of course there was never any proof of this. She was also claiming that S’ friends were calling her out of the blue to tell her all the things that he had done. None of this is true, but I still was feeling like a bad person for not believing her. I felt like I was being disloyal to a family that had never been loyal to me. I guess I just wanted to please them after all these years so I went along with it until she took it too far.
One day she called me to tell me that S is a pimp. Yes, you read that right. She was claiming that her professional, soon-to-be-ex husband was pimping out girls in a gated community. And he was involved in the disappearance of yet another girl. Again I told her to call the police if this is true. Her response was that she couldn’t prove it. That made no sense to me and I started wondering how this could possibly be true. But also, if it was factual, how could any mother expose her son to this. I was stuck in quite a quandary since I felt like my mother’s poor judgment was being replayed by her with her own son. Then she started asking me if I had time to plan her funeral with her since she was going to be murdered. That’s when it hit me, this woman so desperately wants to be living in a Lifetime movie. She will do anything for the attention, and I mean anything. She will drag someone else through the mud in order to make herself look good. I started wondering what she had been saying about me.
They’re divorced now and my nephew is over the age of eighteen, so they don’t really have any legal obligations to each other anymore. This is after years and years of court dates and attorney’s fees. She lost custody of her son at one point and I think that was the best thing that could have happened to him. It’s just too hard living with her. It is like living under the Sword of Damocles, wondering when she would be displeased and explode. And then listen to her just flat out deny her actions. It really is insanity. The funny thing about this is what made me realize that she just lives in a fantasy world where she is victimized by everyone because she is such a good person. S ended up keeping the house and E bought a new one. Now here’s the thing, I had been hearing about what danger she was in from S, how he is definitely going to kill her or hurt her or whatever. I know for myself, if I truly believed I was in danger from my ex, when I moved into a new house, it wouldn’t be around the corner from him in the same gated community. No rational person would choose to move in such close proximity behind the same gate. That’s when it all became so clear and in a way through her divorce, I was the one who became liberated because I was finally able to objectively see the damage she does by spreading her lies. And it helped me realize how not normal she is. But the part that comforts me the most, is the fact that she was the one who took it too far with her lies. I hate to see someone in pain, I really do, but in a way, it does offer me some mental rest to know that I gave her enough rope and she hanged herself with her own tales. But it also helped me realize that I can’t just love someone because I am supposed to. That’s not a good enough reason anymore. Love has to have support and caring and honesty. I didn’t grow up with that, but I can find it somewhere. It’s out there if you know where to look and how to recognize it. Obligations and love aren’t the same thing and I really don’t have it in me to pretend that I love someone who has been a force of destruction in my life since I was a child. I’m sad about it, but in a way, I divorced my sister as well.
Eight years ago today, my mother took her last breaths on earth and it was over. Surprisingly, it was rather peaceful to me and I’d like to think for her as well. Believe it or not, the last ten years that we had together had been pretty good. There were two reasons for this, the first was that my sister was really spiraling out of control and her true colors were showing so much I think my mother was realizing that I was the sane one all along. The second was that I somehow made peace with the decisions that she had made, although I’ll never understand them. The turning point for us was when she called to tell me that Uncle Quicksand had died. I guess sometimes instant karma does happen, as he had spent the last decade of his life suffering through dementia and the physical breakdown of his body that comes naturally with age. But a part of me likes to think that maybe the cruelty of his soul had no place else to turn so it turned inward to torture him with the feelings of helplessness that I felt at his hands all those years. My mother had called me to tell me of his death, she found out from another aunt of mine. I asked her what she said to Aunt E and I was told that her only response to hearing of his demise was “Good.” My aunt actually got upset over what she perceived to be my mother’s coldness but it turned out that that was what turned our relationship.
About a week before she died, I was rushing to work on a Monday morning, I was running late as usual. When I got off the subway I saw a bunch of messages on my cellphone but figured I’d just check them at my desk. As I settled in I started listening and was hearing that my mother had suffered a massive stroke that morning, one that can’t be recovered from. I quickly spoke to my boss and left. The rest of the morning was a blur of phone calls to airlines and packing. Of course there was a snowstorm so I couldn’t leave until the next morning. When I arrived I went straight to the hospital.
Walking in to Intensive Care was surreal. There was my mother, the woman who had all this power over me, on her side, semi -fetal with a tube in her nose. She was so still that I wasn’t even sure if she was alive. The doctor spoke to my sister and me and it was decided that her feeding tube would be removed and her body would shut down and that would be the end. I was told that it’s rather peaceful, almost hallucinogenic to starve to death this way. Also, pain management was in play in the form of morphine which would help slow down her breathing and bring the end faster. They said it should be about a day tops. For some reason when they asked me if I was ready I asked for an extra hour. I have no idea what I thought sixty minutes was going to do but it made sense to me.
A day turned into a week, proving how tough a lady she really was. A couple of days in, it got to the point that I just wanted it to be over. She was immobile, her brain had basically exploded. But the strange thing was that when I looked into her eyes, I could see her looking right back at me. She looked so helpless and I realized that the tables were turned. Her well-being was now my responsibility. I knew she could hear me, which just made me feel so badly for her. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to be a prisoner in her own body, and her whole life coming down to this moment. So I started telling her that I was getting married in two weeks and I’m going to have a good life and have kids and be happy. I added that it’s over now, it doesn’t matter anymore and it’s okay. Then I said what I thought to be the only fair thing to say, “You’re going to die very soon and it’s alright. It’s time to go. I’m sorry” Although my voice was cracking, I wouldn’t cry, I didn’t want her to feel guilty about leaving me. The only tear came from her left eye. One long tear that rolled down her cheek and confirmed that she knew I was there. As I wiped it away, I again repeated, “It’s over” but this time I added “I know you wouldn’t do it the same way if you could do it over.” And I knew at that moment that what I said was true.
At that point I knew I had a choice to make. I could forever tether her to a series of bad decisions or accept what had happened as the past and move on. I had even managed that with my uncle. For years after he died I felt so drunk with power because he had died and I was still alive. I felt like a better person than him and for some reason I felt that he couldn’t get in heaven without my forgiveness. So I decided I wouldn’t give it to him. I would actually say ” I damn you to hell” aloud when I was by myself. It was satisfying until the day that I realized that damning him was also damning myself to continue with all the anger, rage and hurt I felt. I just let it go and said “It’s over, it happened, and I forgive you.” Am I a saint? Absolutely not, mostly because I wasn’t acting out of benevolence, I was acting out of self-preservation in a way. I wasn’t saving him, his redemption wasn’t up to me, but mine could be. In a strange way, I couldn’t save myself without saving him.
As for my mother, seeing this strong , powerful woman lying there so skinny and infantile made me realize that everyone is complex, nothing is simple in this life. I had made so many bad choices, really hurtful and selfish ones at times. But I got my act together somewhat. I was being married in two weeks, isn’t timing great? But I was moving on to a new phase with someone who wasn’t there for all the messed up things. I had my chance at redemption, luckily it was early enough in my life that I could still have time to be content. I don’t know if my mother was ever content. You just really don’t know everything that happened to someone, and you really can’t get in someone else’s head.I don’t know what may have shaped her judgement. That’s the thing, if you looked at me in my teens and twenties, you may have thought I was just a maniac, but it’s more complicated than that, it always is. I was never able to draw a line from what happened with my uncle to the way I behaved. And I guess the shame and disgust made me want to avoid thinking about it. I didn’t want to see myself as a victim, I still don’t think of it that way. I can’t bear the thought of being pitied. Life is too convoluted to judge her on the basis of her bad decision. It all finally hit me, if I refused to make that the defining moment in my life, then why should I make it hers? I guess what made that the easier for me was the fact that I truly do know that she wouldn’t do it the same way again if she could do it over. I just know that. And in a way, isn’t that what we’re all looking for when we get hurt? Not just the “I’m sorry” part but knowing that when the other person sees the hurt they caused, they wouldn’t make the same decisions again if they could.
Everyone’s life is more than just one note. We all have our own symphonies and operas and albums composed of every decision and moment and breath that we take. We can’t judge or be judged based on a beat being missed or being sharp when we should have been flat. It’s the overall song that we leave behind and hopefully it will be sung with jubilation over our lives as a whole, not just the bad choices that we made. At least that’s what I try for, but there will always be a moment when I’m off-key. But I’ll just keep playing until that final serene note is played in harmony with all the other beings in the universe. And really isn’t that the one that matters the most in the end?
“The song is over
The song is over
except in one note, pure and easy
Playing so free like a breath rippling by.”