Tag Archives: letting go

Today is July 21, 2015. I am alive and well.

I dreamt I was with Guy. He reached for me like he would a damp towel. He told me that he made a big mistake–I was the love of his life. In this dream, I wore an electric blue hat. One that had a wide rim which allowed me to bend it into fashion. The shade of the hat kept him from seeing my gaze. I told him I missed our hands locking together. Our hands were hungry for each other. We held hands everywhere, walking down the street, in movie theaters, at dinner, walking the dogs, and sitting sided by side on the couch. Countless places. He knew in this dream, I was not going to rush into his arms. My heart was heavy; I could feel it in my chest. I didn’t reach out to touch him. I didn’t want him to feel me, a brush of finger along his jaw. There will be no more of that.

The dream ends with me being picked up by an Amish man in a buggy. He is dressed the simple way the Amish dress. My electric blue hat brings color to the scene, although I know the Amish are not interested in such things. Before the buggy moves, Guy offers the horse carrots. Anything to keep me in sight awhile longer. The horse knows how to chew and saunter at the same time. Guy becomes a distant memory in the dream, like the memory of my loose tooth being knocked out by the elbow of the fourth grader standing in the line in front of me.

Today, Guy is not a distant memory. He is as visible a presence to me as the cloud puffed up, pregnant with rain outside my window. It has been a year and four months since he left me for Florida and another woman. I still continue to love him. 14 years is a pretty piece of time. It is sitting in a hot car in Arizona, flicking the air conditioner on. The air conditioner works well. We do not sweat it. In the 14 years, we sweat nothing other than finances.

I continue to wish him the best, and he me. There is no reason for us to ever see each other again. I will remain in the buggy with the Amish man. Things are simpler that way.

Today is June 18, 2014. I am alive and well.

I have been spending a great deal of time organizing my second book. In reading it through again, I came across Hunter, my youngest sister by three years. Her name has been changed to give her a bit of anonymity. Hunter is a paper bag which has been ripped open from the weight of her own misgivings. I spent years trying to be helpful to Hunter, all for not.

Recently, I learned that Hunter had been labeled an extreme overdose after showing up in a hospital emergency room in Pennsylvania. How she got there, I have no idea. Got to Pennsylvania, not the emergency room. The emergency room makes sense as she has been an extreme drug addict for a long time, tearing through all the lives of those who once loved her.

After my niece told me about her admission to the hospital, I text back that I love Hunter because she is a creature of this earth, but I don’t like her. I have finally forgiven her for all the grief she’s caused me and the family. But I want nothing to do with her. Harsh, I know. And whose to say that if she showed up at my doorstep, sober, that I wouldn’t reach out to her.

She won’t find me. I am lost to her in all the ways a person can be lost to another. I pray for her peace of mind. I pray for her hoping it is not too late.