The Wedding

My last born child has been the first of my children to marry. She was married in a bare bones, very simple legal ceremony in our home. It may have been the best wedding I have attended.

A promise, signed and sealed by a representative of our provincial government was made just a little more special due to the closeness of those in attendance. The couple themselves, the marriage commissioner, three in-person guests and three more via a Zoom connection. 

A kiss for luck and they are on their way.

The lyrics to "We've Only Just Begun" run through my mind. It was my wedding song. Simply put, we've only just begun sums it all up.

New horizons, so many roads to choose, talkin' it over just the two of us, so much of life ahead and yes we've just begun.

A new life together has officially begun. Unofficially, their beginning was two years ago. They are as certain as two optimistic, bright eyed and married souls can be. 

They've only just begun.

Anniversaries

Congratulations to all who have wedding anniversaries they are celebrating. 

Some couples are still united after a lifetime of creating a life together. Others have lost their life partner. Loss comes in so many forms. Death is the most final but divorce, dementia, deterioration of the relationship/body/mind/soul in a physical or psychological manner still result in loss of the life one may have dreamed of.

As I think of the wedding anniversaries I didn't celebrate due to divorce, a year doesn't pass when the date rolls around and reminds me of the life I thought I was going to have when I married over 44 years ago.

We were starry eyed and in love. We knew others didn't believe our marriage would last but we were determined to prove they were wrong. As we sat side-by-side on my husband's truck bench seat, we saw our future lives as two grey haired old souls still sitting side-by-side in any and all future vehicles we would own.

I remember how we laughed together. We spent a lot of time in that truck. Driving. Dreaming. Drive-In movies. Drinking. Dining at the A&W drive-in (insert vintage image of car hops with food trays that clipped onto the driver's window). Bush parties. Youthful shenanigans I never in a million years dreamed a nerdy girl like me would ever have.

Waiting for the phone to ring, back in the days when telephones were wired into a wall, before call display or answering machines. The anticipation of a call with a boy's voice on the other end of the line. My fearful attempts to call him. 

He drank too much. I thought it was just part of being young. There was one instance of foreshadowing our future while we were dating. It wasn't a huge deal but looking back, I now recognize the significance. 

We were young. We thought we could conquer our world together and tame the demons that seemed to rear their heads when alcohol was involved. 

The good times were incredible. Unfortunately the bad times matched the intensity of the good. Making up and the aftermath of the worst of times almost made it worth the pain involved to get to the other side. I was naïve and in love.

One of the most heartfelt gifts I gave my husband was a Zippo lighter - with a Lifetime Warranty. I promised I also came with a lifetime guarantee and would be around as long as the lighter. I thought if I could love him enough and reassure him of my unwavering commitment, he would become more of the person I fell in love with. [Foreshadowing moment I just realized - Zippo lighters come with a Limited Lifetime Warranty] Apparently my guarantee was also of a limited variety.

When we loved, we loved hard. When we hated, we hated with the same intensity. To say I loved him as much as I hated him at times, would be the truth. I knew the end had come when I simply felt indifference.

The young, starry eyed girl who fell head over heals with someone she thought she could heal by simply loving him wanted to honor those wedding vows "Til death do us part". But when a wave of consciousness of what that destiny would mean to two children raised in the-environment-that-was-our-marriage surfaced, I was done.

I doubt I would have seen the light if I was looking out for only myself. It was the vision of what our children would grow up believing was "normal" that bred the indifference I finally felt when I gathered up our children and left.

There was a deep sense of "knowing" I would die an early death within this marriage. By saving my children, I saved myself. And we (for the most part) lived happily ever after.

I missed being part of a couple. I loved being married. Being a wife. Building a future together. Looking towards the future and seeing "us" together until death parted us.

I raised our family. The scars our oldest carries due to his exposure to life-as-we-knew-it prior to the new life we created weighs on me. Our second-born child, an infant when we left, still had a less-than-ideal-childhood, but a childhood I can live with.

Yet, when wedding anniversaries become a topic of discussion, it is the memories of the life we truly believed we would build together that rises to the surface. Two people who believed their love could conquer all. I think of the toasted BLT sandwiches we made as we unloaded our groceries; the frozen fries I cooked in the oven while my husband ran out to buy KFC gravy to go with those fries so we could experience eating out on a budget; it is the times we watched movies together on our brand new VHS player; making up in the middle of the night and sharing a cup of tea. I remember how good it felt to be loved and to reciprocate that love in the only manner I knew. 

I believe he loved me as much as he was capable of loving. I loved him as much I could in return.

We were two young kids, believing we knew more than we did, drunk on love (whatever love is) and when life was good, it was very good indeed. We celebrated very few anniversaries together. Forever was not our destiny. But I never forgot the life we believed in. 

May your anniversaries carry the wisp of hope and vitality you brought into the forever-ness of  the future you believed in. Together or apart, those who have been important to us continue to live within us. Until death parts us. And beyond ...

Thoughts of the Past

Another day, another birthday. As the birth of my youngest son loomed on the horizon I had one small wish. I hoped it wouldn't land on today. Today is my ex-husband's birthday.

It was a foolish wish but it was granted none-the-less. My thoughts of the anniversary of today and yesterday's anniversary are wide and diverse. As are my thoughts this morning.

My ex-husband is not well. The details are not mine to share but there is a story behind those words. Our parting was messy, complicated and we could never quite come to terms with a life where we were friendly but not a couple. So we remained complete and separate entities from each other.

After reading a biography recently and watching interviews with the author, she advised everyone to write their own memoirs. Not necessarily to share with the world but simply to chronicle your life. I took this to mean that in the act of writing, she unravelled some of her own thoughts and feelings about a rather complicated upbringing.

This statement made me think about the relationship I shared with my ex-husband. We were polar opposite of each other and people often wonder what brought us together. I wish I had a clear answer. I often glaze over the memories of our courtship and marriage and wish I had an arsenal of good stories to pass along to our children.

Our separation was not pretty. Our relationship was unhealthy. I felt the need to protect our children and do my level best to raise them in a manner in which history did not repeat itself. Our oldest son retained the memories of living within the confines of our marriage. Our youngest son was three months old when we left. He grew up not knowing his father but I remember his innocent years when he would comment, "My dad could fix this..." if only he had one (were the words I heard but were never said aloud).

There are chapters which could fill the gap between "then" and "now". I was a third party to the attempts of communication during the missing years. I did my level best not to influence our children's thoughts about their father but instead let his actions speak for themselves.

The father/son relationships never happened. There doesn't appear to be a story book ending in sight. I am afraid time is running out but there is little hope of changing the ending.

My oldest son gave me some insight on how he felt when long term relationships ended. He once told me he had to either love her or hate her. There was no middle ground for him. I wonder if that is how his father felt...

I'm walking into uncharted territory here but I have one wish. I would like the opportunity to sit down and reminisce with my ex-husband so I could piece together his memories with mine and remember the good times. I would like to have the full story in my head when I think of the story of "us".

This is something I have wished for, for forever but I dared not cross the line drawn in the sand between us. Is it too little, too late? Or is it simply too late? I simply want to have memories that remember the reasons we married and kept reconciling. I want to have something light and easy for our children to remember when they think about "us".

Long ago, I came to terms with our past. I would often say that I didn't love him or hate him. I simply felt indifference. Indifference is the opposite of love.

I would like to amend my previous statement to read that I have a healthy acceptance of what was, what wasn't and that we tried, tried and tried again to make our relationship work. I have forgiven myself for being unable to make this work but more importantly, I have accepted the fact that it simply couldn't. For reasons out of our control.

The story of "us" is a part of my life. I wouldn't change it if I could. The story of who we were together forged a big part in the person and parent I became. I think the struggle was worth the result. No regrets.

We Had to Get Away

I have spent the past week immersed in Jeannette Walls' books (The Glass Castle and Half Broke Horses). I soaked up every word and watched numerous interviews with her on YouTube, yet I couldn't succinctly describe what it felt like to be wrapped up in her books until I came upon this quote:

“Mom, you have to leave Dad,” I said. 

She stopped doing her toe touches. “I can’t believe you would say that,” she said. “I can’t believe that you, of all people, would turn on your father.” 

I was Dad’s last defender, she continued, the only one who pretended to believe all his excuses and tales, and to have faith in his plans for the future. “He loves you so much,” Mom said. “How can you do this to him?” 

“I don’t blame Dad,” I said. And I didn’t. But Dad seemed hell-bent on destroying himself, and I was afraid he was going to pull us all down with him. “We’ve got to get away.” 
― Jeannette Walls, The Glass Castle

I thoroughly enjoyed Jeannette's writing style and couldn't put my finger on the "why" of it until one interviewer marvelled at the fact that she retold her story without anger or resentment towards her father who was an alcoholic which led to a nomadic and unstable upbringing.

I walked away from a partner who encapsulated some of the personality traits of Rex Walls (Jeannette's father). As I drove my young family away from the cycle of the life that kept drawing me back time and time again, there was a knowing deep inside of me that we had to get away. Plain and simple. I was afraid he was going to pull us all down with him.

In one of her interviews, Jeannette Walls says everyone should write their own memoir. Not everyone should publish their memoir but everyone should write the story of their life. I began to wonder what I may come up with, if I was to unearth my memories.

My childhood was idyllic and in no way prepared me for my marriage. I question why I made some of the choices I did at the time but I do remember well the low self image I had of myself. That is quite likely at the crux of things.

I fell for a boy (I was 16; he was 18 when we met and we married one year later) who loved me out loud. I led a very safe life. He lived on the edge. I followed rules to the letter. He defied them. I grew up in a home where affection was not displayed openly. He held my hand. He hugged me. I felt unloveable. He loved me.

And the rest is history.

Our marriage was a roller coaster ride of the best of times and the worst of times. Our fights were loud and destructive. We brought out the best and the worst in each other. I can't think of a time in my life where I look back and criticize my actions as harshly as I do during our marriage. Yet ... the good times made up for everything.

Our marriage was so far from my normal that I didn't even want to be around my family. I couldn't be a part of something that felt so foreign to me. Yet when we separated for the last time I ran straight into the heart of everything that has grounded me. I moved back "home", nestled in among family I didn't know yet. It was the beginning of a time of good decision making for me.

I had to leave him. It was the only right answer. For me. For my children. For our future.

I look back on my previous life and while I remember our reality quite well, I choose to focus on the heart of a man who wanted to be so much more.

I believe I saw the best he had to give. His heart started out in the right place but too often, his intentions got lost somewhere in between his heart and his actions. But there were times when his actions reflected his intentions. It was the best of times ...

“I don’t blame him. But he seemed hell-bent on destroying himself, and I was afraid he was going to pull us all down with him. We had to get away.” 

I Needed to Know I Tried

I woke up with thoughts of an irreparable relationship on my mind.

I had recently made a half hearted attempt to step through the past and simply move forward from where we are today. It didn't work.

"I tried." Those were the words I wrote down before I fell asleep last night. I tried.

 When I awoke, those very words were still speaking to me. Had I tried hard enough before everything fell into a state of disrepair? I truly believe I did.

I have held onto an envelope full of "evidence" I have never looked at since this relationship fell apart the final time. This morning, for the first time since I tucked that written correspondence away, I am tempted to reread the contents.

That broken relationship runs through my mind a lot these days.

"There are two sides to every story", I remind people as I relate the tales of my past. I am accountable for my actions. There were two people involved. Both parties were hurt. Innocent parties were hurt. I walked away for the sake of my children and I know in my heart of hearts I did the right thing. I know this. I believe this. I did what I had to do.

But out there, lies someone who is terminally ill. Their days are numbered. I find myself wondering what is going through their mind as they live their final days. I don't profess to know much, if anything, about their life after "us", but I used to know this person well. I just wanted to remind him we made many happy memories together. I loved him as much as knew how at the time. His life made a difference.

It is something I think I would appreciate hearing as my days wound down to a close. I just wanted to "do unto others"...

Out there, is a family who is wounded. I can't begin to imagine the walk they are walking. Everyone handles their pain differently. I believe I am a stranger to their brand of hurt but as a parent, I can only imagine ...

I simply wanted to offer to sit still with them as they feel, live and walk through this time. I'm the last person in the world they want to see but I feel responsible for my part in the past and I had hoped to offer my presence.

I am the wrong person, at the wrong time. But I tried.

The energy of the world knew what I needed before I needed it. I was just about to come home from my day and sit still with my thoughts when another person from another relationship from another time called out and invited me to go for coffee.

This too, was a broken relationship from years gone by. Again, there are two sides to this story. I did my fair share of damage to this relationship. We parted ways but despite the hurt, anger and heart ache we stayed connected throughout the years.

There are two sides to every story.

I am grateful for a parallel story which reminds me that it does take two people to make or break a relationship. Before, during and after. I'm grateful for the reminder that although I am responsible for my side of what went wrong within "us", I'm just as responsible for what has gone right.

I needed to be reminded of this. I am grateful.

I needed to know I have tried. I did. It is time to set this free.

A Day of Rest

I worked hard yesterday. It was a day where one thing led to the next, the next and the next. All. Day. Long.

I found two of the things I thought were gone forever. I KNEW I wouldn't throw these items away but I was afraid they may have ended up in a giveaway box during my time of great culling. It felt like Christmas!! I was so delighted to find these lost-to-me items.

I must admit I am slightly concerned about reshuffling the contents of our entire main floor. How will I ever find anything again unless I am strategic and methodical? Thus, I put all office supplies into one multi-drawer storage container. Like things were all amassed together so they are all in one spot.

I hope I have en-grained these new spots in my head. Now that all like things are together, if I've lost one, I've lost them all.

I have a give away pile, a pile to go to the dump and one pile to donate. These piles are not as big as they should be. I didn't get into a sorting and culling mindset. I didn't have the mental energy to touch each item and decide whether said item brought me joy or not. I'll do that as these belongings make their way back upstairs again.

The state our home is in at the moment reminds me of when we cleaned out Mom's home. After our first weekend, everything looked the same. But the cupboards, closets, drawers and all storage areas were cleaned out. It still felt like Mom's home. This still feels like our home.

Life hasn't changed. Yet.

It's coming ... the unbecoming is a time and energy consuming task. The becoming will be the fun part. Too bad the "becoming" is so costly. I suppose this is good. It means there will be an end date. End dates are a good thing.

The High Cost of Loving

I sat still in the back yard yesterday and memories of Andre flooded my consciousness.

We had "cat proofed" our yard these past few years so he could come out with us and enjoy the great outdoors on his own terms, within the confines of our yard.

I remembered...

The (many) times he escaped our back yard when he was young and feisty.
The time he got "treed" by some crows (he climbed up into a tree and they were swooping down on him and quite disturbed by this black critter in their tree).
Snuggled up on the lawn swing, just enjoying the sun and whoever may have been around.
Hidden and camouflaged in the underbrush of our lilac bush.
Soaking up the sun. Right up until the end of his days.
I was suddenly grateful that he was given the gift of "one last spring" to unwrap with us.

I sat quietly with my thoughts and I revelled in how absolutely lucky I felt. I had no regrets.

Andre was adored. He was an integral part of our family and he made his way quietly throughout our days. Whether our house was full of kids, just our family or if we had company, he was a part of almost every memory I have.

We have so many pictures of our much adored little black kitty. I have written about him on many occasions. Heavens, he was even the theme of one of my Christmas letters ("Because Our Little Black Cat Scratched").

He was loved and he knew it. I am pretty sure he adored us as well because we certainly felt our human/cat relationship was a two way street.

That little guy made my heart swell. Day after day, year after year. I wish I could say I showed my love for my children in a manner that was as unmistakable as the way I openly loved our little black cat.

I have replayed his last years and days with us over and over in my mind.

I know we did all we could for him. I know without a doubt. Our efforts were supported and supplemented by our friendly neighborhood veterinarian's office. I have felt a bond grow with our vet family throughout these past few years.

In his final hours, it was such a gift to simply sit beside him and absorb "the essence of Andre".

He was such a cool cat. So calm. So life affirming. So loving. So adventuresome. He knew how to live the good life.

I replayed the years in my mind and I was so incredibly at peace, knowing that we did everything we could for him. We loved him, nurtured him, took care of him when he was sick and always had our door open for him during all of those years where he was so interested in the great big world beyond our own back yard.

No regrets.

I did everything I could do, throughout his entire life with us. I said all I had to say. I wrote. We took pictures and videos. We have stories and memories which will transcend time.

My heart is full of good, long lasting feelings of loving and being loved.

Loving so deeply comes at a cost. Hearts are broken, great loves are lost and you risk not feeling love in return.

It is a price I would pay any day of the week. The high cost of loving comes with the greatest reward. You just know you would not have done it any other way.

It was a privilege and an honor loving you, Andre. Thank you for opening not only my heart, but the hearts of our entire family. We wouldn't be the same without you.

This is a picture of the sun which set upon the day when we laid Andre to rest.
My son took this picture on our drive home, after burying Andre on his brother's farm.
I knew he took the picture, he showed it to me at the time.
What I didn't know, is where I would find that photo.
It is the last photo within a file of pictures he took of Andre.
It is titled "Rest in Peace".

Our lives have a hole which only you could fill, Andre. Thank you for filling it so fully while you lived here with us.

Happy Memories

I'm not sure where my fingers are going to take me this morning. I am craving down-time in a quiet and reflective way and what I have received instead is a lot of times where the movie reel of my life has been slowly rewinding and playing for me ...

Music seems to be speaking to me a lot these days. I hear an old, familiar song and I start to feel the way I felt when that music was playing in the background of my life.

I drove for (the better part of) twelve hours this past weekend. It seemed every radio channel I came upon was having a 'Throwback Weekend' from the '80's. I have decided the 1980's must have been a pretty memorable decade for me.

That was the decade I was married (half of the time, anyway ... it was a marriage of an on-again-off-again variety). We went through a phase where we went out dancing almost every Saturday night. The music that was the soundtrack of this past weekend was straight out of those dancing days.

My marriage ended on a pretty sour note (don't they all?) and for those who walked by my side during those dark days, I think that is quite likely all they remember. There were a fair number of dark moments throughout that time but there were also many (lesser known) good times.

I discovered my ability to dance out loud during that decade. There were a lot of dancing memories. That is not altogether a bad thing.

The weekend before this one, was spent in Las Vegas.

Once again, there was music pumped into the streets, restaurants and stores. You couldn't walk a step without being bombarded by music.

No one particular decade stood out but a state of 'happy' was what I felt as the music subconsciously infiltrated my soul. The music simply made me feel good.

It was the memories of a previous trip to Vegas which rose to my subconscious mind this time.

Light and easy memories of a time long ago wafted through my mind. When that relationship ended, he asked me one favor. "Remember the good times we had. Just try to remember the good memories ..."

I have never purposely focused on the negative. But the good times we had together had never flooded my memory bank the way they did when I walked down The Strip at Las Vegas, twenty two years later.

It felt good to look back and simply feel the good memories I have had with the fathers of my children. I'm not going to pick up the phone and try to rekindle any old flame. But I am going to forgive myself for loving and losing.

I don't think I really knew how to love someone completely and totally back then. Perhaps I never will. But I loved with as much of my heart and my soul that I had to give at the time. It wasn't enough. But there were a lot of good memories, for as long as it lasted...

Daring to Dream Again

"So, what are your plans for the rest of the evening?" the nurse at the blood donor clinic asked me as I was going through the steps which proceeded my blood donation that evening.

"I am going home to be interviewed by my son. He is working on a school project and part of his assignment is to interview a parent about 'relationships'". I added, "I asked my son if I was qualified for the job because I am obviously not successful on maintaining one!"

"You aren't married? I assumed you were because of your ring."

"Oh, that's my mom's wedding band. It's the only finger it fits and I don't want t take a chance of misplacing it. So until I figure out whether I should have it soldered together with her engagement ring, this is where it is safest."

"Oh, I suppose that's okay if you aren't looking for someone."

Really? Could it be that simple? 'Love' wasn't finding its way back into my world because of a simple band of gold on my ring finger?

I thought it was the impenetrable walls I have erected around myself and only coming out of my fortress of solitude when absolutely necessary and by not making eye contact with anyone of the opposite sex and my solemn vow to myself that I did not have time for such nonsense while I was working on my dad's book project.

Hmm...

I got home and tried to see if Mom's ring would fit on any other finger. Nope. I gazed at it and wondered "Where do you belong?" and I put it back on my ring finger. I feel 'married' to my family in every way. So I suppose that is my answer.

Then I started to wonder about the whole idea of 'meeting someone' again.

Yesterday morning, I awoke from a dream where I had an admirer.

We laughed together and respected each other. There was a faint twinkle in his eye (remember, this is all a dream) and my heart smiled.

In my dream sequence, this admirer slipped a card under my door. Simply signed with his name.

Then, upon further examination, it wasn't just a card. It had several pages. It was his 'bucket list' and beside the odd item he made a notation of the items he had already checked off. Then there were a few items where he had written "Something I'd like to do with you..." (or some such sentiment - it was yesterday's dream and has lost its vivid quality this morning).

I awoke with a light and happy heart.

Yes. That is exactly how it would and should happen. Someone I've known forever finally sees a crack in my armor and speaks to me in a language I know well.

That twinkle in the eye. Shared laughter. Shared dreams. And the simplicity of spelling it out for me in a simple yet perfect card (yes, my dreams are totally G-rated).

The G-rating is exactly where I am comfortable. Anything beyond that rating has me running for cover and battening down the hatches within this fortress of solitude I have created. It is beautiful in here.

I feel my armor cracking and I see a little bit of space in my life.

Soon after I wrapped up the 'book project', I remembered the quiet resolve I made to myself. "No relationship until this is done!"

Would life interject someone new (or old and familiar) into my world because there was now an available space and energy for such a diversion?

I trembled in fear at the idea.

Yet ... if 'Gary' (yes, the ficticious-man-of-my-dream came with a name and he spelled it with one "r") was to look into my eyes and drop me a line, would I run for cover? Or would I take a chance again?

I wonder if I will ever find out.

I thought I was too old to think of such things. It is nice to feel light and young-at-heart once again. It feels a little bit exhilarating to be open to whatever may come my way.

I'm not removing Mom's ring though. I am not that brave.

Happily Ever After

They were the 'Fred and Ginger' of the dance studio. Maybe not. Were Fred and Ginger a couple off the dance floor? Did a romance ignite when they started dancing together? Maybe they were Cinderella and Prince Charming...

She told me of her story - before and after she met her husband. She had a child-like sense of joy about her when she spoke of her life and he was such a very big part of her story.

They were both single and had never been married. He was 60 when they met and fell in love. From someone who feels like the romance ship has sailed in, out and through their life at the age of 53, I look to my favorite dance couple and marvel at the proven fact that you are never to old to fall in love and start a life together.

She spoke of him and them with a sense of naiveté and wonder. She talked of how they met. She told us of the ways that he listened and gently guided her through her life's journey. She called him "Sweety" ...

I have never known one, without the other. In my eyes, they have been a couple 'forever'. But they weren't. In actuality, they were newlyweds when I first met them. Funny that I didn't realize that at the time. They simply seemed meant for each other.

Destiny and dancing brought these two young souls together and two lives merged into one life together. They are two of the kindest, most caring, giving and fun-loving people I know. I aspired to be part of a couple that emulated the love and joy they had found together.

Their wedding vows saw them through 'in sickness and in health'. The last time I spoke to him, his health was declining and when I asked how he was, his only concern was that of his wife. They had moved out of their house and into a senior's condominium and he was so pleased that his wife was surrounded by a caring community and out of their high maintenance home. She was happy and that (to me) sounded like his greatest joy.

He passed away last week. Last night, his brave and courageous wife got up and spoke about him and her and them in front of a room full of family, friends and community.

She looked so strong and her love for him superseded all else as she told us their love story. Her voice was young and her words were full of life as she remembered the impact that he had made on her life.

I thought that kind of love only happened in fairy tales.

I am grateful to know this couple that fell in love on the dance floor and forged a partnership that carried them through their lives together. And they will live happily ever after, within her heart and all of those who were privileged to know this real life couple that walked straight out of a fairy tale and into our lives...

Living in a Bubble Wrapped World

I often wonder just how much I shield my heart from the risk of being hurt.

It's not that I don't care. I do. I appreciate out loud. I feel great empathy and I trust. I cherish the gift of friendship and treat it with reverence and respect. I share my heart, my ears and the-story-of-me easily. But I have an escape clause. I can listen, feel, empathize and care. Then, I can simply turn it all 'off' after I walk away resume life-as-I-know-it just as easily.

A friend who needed a gentle ear called me a few nights ago. She knows far too many people who know people who are getting sick. And dying. It is not just one or a few. It is not just elderly people who have had a good life. It is people our age. It is happening far too often. She is so very sensitive and she physically feels what her friends are going through. And it hurts. It hurts her so very, very much. She can't turn it off and she can't find a release valve for her pain.

In that moment, I felt for her. Ouch. I cannot imagine claiming ownership of someone else's pain, physically feeling it and taking it home with me.

I don't feel like I would be as effective as a support person if I carried the weight of another person's burden on my shoulders. I am very stoic in my supportive role. I know that when I have been the one who has crumbled and fell I need to surround myself with quiet strength. So that is what I unconsciously give.

Then again I wonder. Do I care enough?

When I hear a friend talk about their broken heart, I know that I have never loved that deeply. My heart is bubble wrapped in a protective coating that prevents me from the inevitable fall.

If someone doesn't call (or call back) there is a reason for that. I justify it in a way that I justify when potential daycare families don't follow up on their planned appointments or return phone calls. If a relationship starts out that way who needs it? And I stand by that reasoning.

My love life could be written into a Disney movie. It is pretty much (who am I kidding? it IS) non-existent. I create little fantasies over small 'school girl crushes' that I have had as the years pass me by. My heart is safe in my dream world. Then when I do actually dream of what that reality could be, the dream is of the Walt Disney variety. It consists of eyes locking and hearts beating a little faster. Then it fades to black (or daylight).

I keep my heart safe and protected in my bubble wrapped little world. I have loved before and it is intoxicating. I have also lost at love. A heartache is worse than a hangover the next morning.

My friend that wears her heart on her sleeve and takes on her friends' pain as her own is also longing to find the love-of-her-life. She is not content to sit and wait for the phone to ring. She is proactive and makes those phone calls herself. She has been rewarded at times, heartbroken at others.

What is the right way? Is there a right way?

I am completely self-sustaining within my little world. I live in a supportive and supporting environment. My heart is open to feel all that life sends my way. But it is surrounded by a porous layer of protection. Perhaps not of the bubble wrap variety after all. Maybe it is more like the styrofoam packing peanut variety. It moves and seeps into the places that need protection the most.

What is most important of all, is that I don't build up a callous from repeated wear and tear on a broken heart muscle. And that ... is simply not going to happen.

Love Stories

I have been on the listening end of some beautiful love stories lately.

It is unfortunate that these stories have been triggered by grief and a need to talk of a lost loved one...

People are talking. I am listening. There are beautiful stories all around us. Sometimes we don't tell those stories while we are living them because life is so full of clutter that we can't hear the beauty in among the task of living-our-lives.

Love is all around us. We just have to listen.

I was sitting still with my thoughts this morning (okay, I was busy applying lotion to my feet before I race off out the door and off into another work-day) and it came to me. Love stories...

I must finish the writing project that has been filed under "Procrastination Project #21238" so that I can start a series. Love stories.

Love and marriage. Love and children. Love and pets. Love and parents. Love and siblings. Love and friendship. You see? No one is immune.

I want to approach one person at a time and ask if I can put their story into words, illustrate it and put it together in the format of a small booklet so that they can share their story.

One person at a time. Short stories. Stories that speak to everyone's heart.

I feel something stirring inside and it is not indigestion. It is a spark. I feel a flame begging for oxygen. I feel alive.

I must not delay.

When Did They Stop Writing Love Songs For Me?

It wasn't all that very long ago when I wondered "when did they stop writing love songs for me?". It was a little bit of a sad day when I realized that they aren't singing 'my' song on the radio any more. I hear the lyrics and remember a time when those were my feelings, thoughts and emotions they are crooning about. But I simply cannot imagine feeling that way again (insert a sad violin song here).

I have a friend who is recently divorced. She is my age and her eyes are wide open to the Wonderful World of Men. Newly single, she has resumed life again and dated. She doesn't give away too many secrets but when I listen to her, I hear her 16 year old self all over again. It is like we are sitting in the basement of her parent's house, listening to April Wine's record "Forever For Now" over and over and over again. She had very serious crushes in those days. I dated her left-overs. I married the second one and that was the end of that ...

Enough about that. Back to the future now. The reason that I backtracked and wrote of my friend's ability and desire to lay her heart out on the line again, is that I know that love could happen again. To someone else.

I have all but stopped dreaming of a life where I find someone who speaks to my heart and makes it beat a little faster. At this stage of my life, a fast beating heart equates to a health condition. Not love! So I am more than content that my heart beats a regular, steady beat to the tune of life-as-I-know-it. Life is good without the complications of 'a man' tossed in for good measure.

I suppose that I haven't given up altogether. I keep tossing out the idea that I just want 'a Luke' ...

... doesn't everyone watch the Gilmore Girls to know exactly what I am talking about here? The Gilmore Girls ran for seven seasons. 'Lorelai and Luke' were meant for each other from the start. It took them five and a half seasons to realize that. Then ... it was magical. For oh, about a season and a half. But even after they broke up, you knew that they were meant for each other. Television romance. There's nothing like it...

Anyway, I just have a feeling that if love is meant to come knocking on my door again, it will be 'a Luke'. Someone that I have known 'forever' will finally spark into something real.

I had a dream this morning. It was only a dream. But it was vivid. Oh! So! Vivid!

... mid-way into my dream sequence, I realized that the man I was taking home to meet my mother was a shyster. I caught him being himself and I realized that he was not to be trusted. He tried to smooth talk me through the moment and I didn't even bother wasting a breath on him. I knew. He could talk all he wanted. I was done.

... fast forward to the end. I was sitting on the floor and a man that I have known 'forever' was standing beside me. For some unknown dream-reason, I was feeling down and out. And I reached over. I hugged this man's legs (calves). He bent over and draped his arm around my shoulder (yes, I even have G-rated dreams). I was wearing the worn out burgundy cardigan that I have been living in since January, 2012. I looked at the frayed seam on my favorite item of clothing. Then I looked up. Our eyes locked. I had found My Luke.

Then I woke up.

It was not a fuzzy image in my mind. The dream was as clear as day. It could happen again one day. It really could. Couldn't it??

Maybe someone will write a song for me yet ...

**A little bit of dream analysis here, now that I have reread what I have just written. I think that my subconscious mind was focused a little too heavily on my worn out burgundy cardigan. I have been thinking of little else but finding a good replacement for my favorite sweater lately and have not been having good luck with it. I may never find 'my Luke' ... but I really do hope that I find another good sweater!**