I am a firm believer that God will never put anything on you that you cannot handle. I am also a firm believer that God gave us free will and therefore cannot be blamed for the bad in our world.
Bad has been getting the best of me lately. My health has been taking a turn for the worse and aging me much faster than I ever imagined. I wasn’t really concerned because all of me dreams in life- all of my wishes- were coming true. Life could bring the worst it could throw at me and I would be just fine because nothing could kill the butterflies of a life where butterflies land on you and you wake up humming.
Out of nowhere, life smacked me down. Hard. In case you haven’t noticed, my dear writing partner is MIA. He wasn’t just my writing partner…he was my best friend. He was my love- the man God sent for me to cherish and adore and he adored and cherished me. I thought.
He made me promise, no matter what- to hold on- not let go. He knew things were going to get “crazy” as he put things in order in his life to move me across the country and love me, for the rest of our lives.
Well, one night, he loved and missed me and couldn’t wait for the next day (his birthday) to talk to me several times- after seeing his divorce lawyer- to boot. (Happy birthday, indeed.)
Well, I went to sleep feeling missed, loved and adored. The next day- radio silence. I assumed an oversleeping morning mixed with a long lawyer visit. Nope. I get an email after several ignored texts and calls- an email out of the blue- stating we were over- Short. Simple. Cold. From a man that promised if we were ever over he would say it to my face, because he knew he could never look into my eyes and say goodbye. So an email. An email. Like a scared teenage boy. I laughed it off. It sounded nothing like him. I promised to hold on during the roughness of his divorce from…. her.
Well, you would say, maybe he just felt guilty- maybe he was really willing to live life in misery to honor vows of an already damaged well before I existed marriage. It happens.
Sure. Well, no. I wasn’t the only victim of this out of the blue moment. His family was all shut out as well. Called or emailed- or both…by that her and told they would never see him again.
Hell, I won’t lie.. I wondered the worst. I was scared he was being held captive or something. All anyone knows was she gave him an ultimatum. So he is stuck in this- “I am angry, I know you love someone else but I am going to force you here forever away from her and your family or……” I have no idea what the or was.
But, that is not even the full extent. His writing- his passion- his networking with other writers. Gone. Erased. Vanished. I know this man has to be the most miserable man walking the face of the Earth right now. He doesn’t own his life. I ached for him. I cried for him. I begged for him to reach out. Nothing. Silence. The man that loved me forever and back, the man that knew God matched us, the man that held my heart, my future and my full trust- refused to own his life enough to reach out- to explain- to secure my holding on- not even an apology.
I’ve spent my summer in limbo with my kids (that love him and wonder where he went) waiting to move across the states to live with him. I have intertwined my entire literary career around him. Professionally, personally, perfectly wrapped around him and all of it- broken. Square one- all around- with zero communication, care, respect- not even close to love.
I’ve leaned on those that have known him the longest. All, dumbfounded. All hurt. All comforting me, knowing what I meant to him- what he meant to me- and the rut he left me in.
I had to go to a specialist the other day. He promised I need not be afraid, I had him. Well, I sure did settle into the waiting room with the side tables made of books, the fine leather wing back chairs- a writer’s heaven- and re-read all of the texts from the day before my world crumbled. He loved me. He ached for me. He needed me. And then, here I was- scared and alone with a bunch of words he didn’t mean, obviously.
The news I received was mind blowing. The pain of the electro/needle tests left me crying out in pain- and with ever jolt that made me bellow, I closed my eyes- and saw only him- I curled up on the table in between nerve shocks with only memories, loneliness and tears. He promised…he promised.
I left the doctor the weakest I’ve ever been. Scared. Alone. In trembling pain. I needed my best friend. I needed the man that promised me forever. I didn’t know what to do or where to go- but I knew if I called him, I would only get his voicemail. I am past the point of feeling erased and unneeded. I get it. I went the only place I knew to go. I drove straight to my source of advice and wisdom. I drove straight to my grandmother.
The cemetery was empty. I was the only heartbeat around. My weak body used the last bit of energy to make it toward her grave. I leaned on her, holding the flowers on top of her grave in an embrace. I begged for answers. How would I deal with what I am facing alone? How will I start over and get out of this limbo alone? How would I snag a job to pay the bills with my health decaying daily? How would I ever get over him? Why can’t I get angry? Why do I love him so much, still? Why is he hurting me? What can I possibly do to get through to him- to snap him out of this trap- to make him become the master of his own life and fate?
She has wind chimes on her grave. I have chimes where I am staying. I feel she talks to me through the chimes. Her chimes were silent. Autumn Carolina breezes blew through, strong enough for my hair to slap my face, yet the chimes remained silent. I cried until I made myself sick and I felt, even she had left me alone. It hurt. I growled and went to stomp away.
I barely made three steps from her grave when my knees buckled beneath me and I fell to the ground. I landed face first on another grave. I picked myself up by my elbow, hands too weak to push. That grave. I never once paid attention to that grave. I brushed away the dirt I’d pushed over it with my fall. A few weeds crowded the words engraved. It was my aunt. An aunt I had never known. An aunt that sacrificed her own life to save the man she loved and her child. A hell of a woman. I apologized first for falling on her, then for never stopping to say hello.
I pulled more of the vines of weeded grass from her stone. It hit me like a ton of bricks.
“She hath done what she could.”
I sobbed her stone clean, wiped my face and asked my grandmother and aunt if that was my sign- my wisdom.
I half crawled into my car and fussed at my lost loved women from the driver’s seat for wanting a clearer sign in my confusion. I cranked the car. There it was… my sign.
“Did you write the book of love
And do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells you so?
Now do you believe in rock and roll?
Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?”
And through the tears, I started singing- Bye Bye Miss American Pie- I called my mother and told her- turned the radio louder for her to hear, this song- the song that played the day my grandmother died. The song that played on the way to her funeral- the song I didn’t hear again until he came along- Until I asked for advice on him.
“She hath done what she could.”
I have nothing left. No more ways to beg for him to break the silence. Square one. I must start all over. I must face everything I face alone. I will love him until the day I die, but I must let go. If he cannot be the hero of his own life, he will never claim me. He will never be the hero of the hell I face. It takes my breath away in a most painful way, but I will never know if he really loved me- and even if he did- he never loved me enough.
“She hath done what she could.”