So the anniversary came and went, but my account would not let me log in. Hmm... perhaps a sign?
No, not a sign at all :) My previous home account changed and was delayed. In addition to a nice meal and a bottle of wine, our anniversary generally meant Marcie and I would review the year.
All I have to go on is what she decided to give me in the last months we had. Basically, she foreshadowed a lot of what I have come to understand and live through.So, without further ado, a conversation for Marcie about all the things that she knew and I doubted.
Lessons To Remember:
You told me I was a tough nut to crack, and I believe you now. You meant people would misunderstand me, especially my ferocity and passion. You said I was stronger than most women could or would even try to handle, and I wanted to doubt you.
I see what you mean. I don't fall for simplistic manipulations, and I also don't let them go, but rather call them out. People prefer that others play the game. I promise I won't.
On the other hand, I have been a bit frosty lately. I am trying to soften, to be more open, to be less crystalline and to be accepting of the foolishness people indulge in. I am making progress in that way.
I made a lot of progress with someone who I knew was a tough nut herself. I learned what I could.
I move forward and am finding that the simple calculus you applied... that all people have potential in their minds, lives, and hearts, and in unequal amounts, has validity. I opened a heart. It will blossom. I opened my mind. It will not overcome my heart, though.
That is always what you worried about, that some person would wring me dry and leave me broken. You were right to worry, more to say so, and good to me in that you just offered your wisdom. But I think I know what has value, and I am stronger than that. I recognize my worth.
And if I open a heart or two that was closed, then we'll share that passing joy and sigh in my dreams when you come. On this anniversary, your gentleness and ferocity of spirit reminds me that to all there is a moment, be it glory or comeuppance.
But you remind me that, no matter the injury or the depth of someone's fall, there is redemption in love, and it must always be on offer.
Thank you for yours, my sweet.
Showing posts with label Anniversary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anniversary. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wonderful Morning
Seamus was too cold to not sleep all night between my legs, which is nice in its own way, and I woke with him mewing and cuddling tight. I remember him laying long between us, stretched out, on his back, paws stuck in the sheets while he kitty-snored, every night from fall to early spring.
I guess those cuddle nights are back!
I fully awoke and lit a candle I had saved for this year, smiled and felt the weight of the last few days slide off me and the great strength and assurance of that great love slide into me.
I don't miss you today, milady. I am grateful for you and the knowledge of who I am in myself and who I was in your eyes. Nothing, I believe, will shake that sense of goodness and approval.
And though nothing is ever unconditional, the conditions were just what we needed to feel that way :)
I guess those cuddle nights are back!
I fully awoke and lit a candle I had saved for this year, smiled and felt the weight of the last few days slide off me and the great strength and assurance of that great love slide into me.
I don't miss you today, milady. I am grateful for you and the knowledge of who I am in myself and who I was in your eyes. Nothing, I believe, will shake that sense of goodness and approval.
And though nothing is ever unconditional, the conditions were just what we needed to feel that way :)
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Letter to Marcie - Wisdom in Forgiveness
Dear Beloved,
I have been rummaging through gifts, reflecting on all of those you gave me. Some of them are more abstract, and this one no less so, perhaps moreso, than any other. You taught me to forgive again.
I do not know where I had learned to never trust anyone, or to take every offense as some permanent black stain that could never be removed, but when we met, it was how I was. With your example, and your encouragement, I can honestly say this is no more
Perhaps it was the vast echo chamber of my sprawling family, where first mention of a given offense by someone may not be heard in all corners for years. Even then, notoriety was easily created as exaggeration replaced information. But some in my family were more forgiving than begrudging.
Perhaps it was in my upbringing at Catholic school, where a permanent record meant yearly carryover of every demerit. Or perhaps in foster care, where every element of behavior, once written down, became a guide for every person who touched your life, or passed you along to the next.
Perhaps it was in receiving too many wounds too quickly to heal them all. A backlog of bitterness, a pattern of pain conditioning me beyond my ability to analyze it and release it all.
But all the Christian upbringing in the world did not help me forgive, but in fact taught me more to note offense.
I don't know why it was how I was. I do know you could not understand it, but the first thing you chose to do was forgive me for it.
"You are being so ridiculous," you said. "You know, you really need to let things go. People make mistakes."
I know I did, and you pointed that out rather directly. Of course, I was pondering the loss of $500 at a friends' hand over a computer that did not work. I had known him for a year or so, and had decided he was no friend. Worse, his private disclosures were now reason to hold in that anger.
"I know he had meth problems," I said. "A few years ago. Maybe he ripped me off for that. At least he could pretend to want to help me out and cover his tracks."
You looked at me and sat down, you kissed my cheek. "He'll come help," you said. "But you can't be upset all weekend. You're ruining my time with you."
So I learned to let go in the form of moving on, neither forgetting nor forgiving. But you soon picked that out when I next saw him, nearly two years on.
He was working at an airport bookstore and smiled when he saw me. He smiled and waved us over. You tugged me to the counter and greeted him.
He told us he had moved and gotten a new job, and he apologized for the computer after we had some small talk. "I needed the money to move, I am sorry, dude," he said.
I started in on him. "That was weak and it was wrong," I said. "You could have asked to borrow or maybe for some side work, right? What, were you on drugs again?"
You squeezed my arm and he looked down. He told us about losing his wife in divorce, finding her cheating and having found his own account empty and hers closed with their shared on the next day. "I was ashamed, man, I was."
I shrugged and bought you Entertainment Weekly before you boarded your plane. I was ashamed, too. You, however, showed me something important.
"That's all very sad," you said. "But he ripped you off and I am sorry he did that to you. You deserve to be treated better, sweety, and I don't think you should talk to him again."
"I thought you said I had to learn to let things go?" I said.
"Well, you should, but I also think you have a big heart and people like him take advantage of everyone they can," you said. "I never liked him or his wife, but I know I did not want you to brood and you were."
I took out his business card and tossed it into the trash. You hugged me and a few minutes later we let go so you could fly north for a visit with your friend.
I smiled and I said, "You think I have a big heart?" I asked.
You smiled and tsk'd at my attention-seeking, "Yes, I do. It's something I love about you. I just want you to strike a balance between that and being judgmental."
And I have. I spent that weekend without you reviewing an old list, yellow on its first pages and white on its newest, crossing people and the offenses they had committed against me off of it. I burned it in the barbecue while our neighbor Cami looked on.
"Wishes?" she asked. "Are you burning your wishes for the genies?"
I smiled and looked up at her. "No, I am forgiving some people I should have done that for a long time ago."
I did not tell you what I had done, and I did not tell you how many times I had not added a name to that list when you soothed my hurt and anger before I burned it.
I will tell you that I am slower to take personal offense, fast to let it go, and completely willing to accept the known risks of people's foibles, and to either include them or exclude them from my life based on that critical calculus you gave me.
"It's important to forgive people for yourself," you said. "Sometimes, you should try to forget what they did to hurt you, too. But you shouldn't always forget, because some people don't make mistakes, they're just never going to be good to you."
When you told me that, I saw that rare and absolutely heartbreaking look cross your face in a blink of an eye, and I wondered what it was you were remembering.
But I am glad I do not know, because it may have revived the list, or maybe would have been something I did that made you gulp like that. By then, I had not learned the one most important lesson of your whole outlook.
I had not learned to forgive myself.
I have been rummaging through gifts, reflecting on all of those you gave me. Some of them are more abstract, and this one no less so, perhaps moreso, than any other. You taught me to forgive again.
I do not know where I had learned to never trust anyone, or to take every offense as some permanent black stain that could never be removed, but when we met, it was how I was. With your example, and your encouragement, I can honestly say this is no more
Perhaps it was the vast echo chamber of my sprawling family, where first mention of a given offense by someone may not be heard in all corners for years. Even then, notoriety was easily created as exaggeration replaced information. But some in my family were more forgiving than begrudging.
Perhaps it was in my upbringing at Catholic school, where a permanent record meant yearly carryover of every demerit. Or perhaps in foster care, where every element of behavior, once written down, became a guide for every person who touched your life, or passed you along to the next.
Perhaps it was in receiving too many wounds too quickly to heal them all. A backlog of bitterness, a pattern of pain conditioning me beyond my ability to analyze it and release it all.
But all the Christian upbringing in the world did not help me forgive, but in fact taught me more to note offense.
I don't know why it was how I was. I do know you could not understand it, but the first thing you chose to do was forgive me for it.
"You are being so ridiculous," you said. "You know, you really need to let things go. People make mistakes."
I know I did, and you pointed that out rather directly. Of course, I was pondering the loss of $500 at a friends' hand over a computer that did not work. I had known him for a year or so, and had decided he was no friend. Worse, his private disclosures were now reason to hold in that anger.
"I know he had meth problems," I said. "A few years ago. Maybe he ripped me off for that. At least he could pretend to want to help me out and cover his tracks."
You looked at me and sat down, you kissed my cheek. "He'll come help," you said. "But you can't be upset all weekend. You're ruining my time with you."
So I learned to let go in the form of moving on, neither forgetting nor forgiving. But you soon picked that out when I next saw him, nearly two years on.
He was working at an airport bookstore and smiled when he saw me. He smiled and waved us over. You tugged me to the counter and greeted him.
He told us he had moved and gotten a new job, and he apologized for the computer after we had some small talk. "I needed the money to move, I am sorry, dude," he said.
I started in on him. "That was weak and it was wrong," I said. "You could have asked to borrow or maybe for some side work, right? What, were you on drugs again?"
You squeezed my arm and he looked down. He told us about losing his wife in divorce, finding her cheating and having found his own account empty and hers closed with their shared on the next day. "I was ashamed, man, I was."
I shrugged and bought you Entertainment Weekly before you boarded your plane. I was ashamed, too. You, however, showed me something important.
"That's all very sad," you said. "But he ripped you off and I am sorry he did that to you. You deserve to be treated better, sweety, and I don't think you should talk to him again."
"I thought you said I had to learn to let things go?" I said.
"Well, you should, but I also think you have a big heart and people like him take advantage of everyone they can," you said. "I never liked him or his wife, but I know I did not want you to brood and you were."
I took out his business card and tossed it into the trash. You hugged me and a few minutes later we let go so you could fly north for a visit with your friend.
I smiled and I said, "You think I have a big heart?" I asked.
You smiled and tsk'd at my attention-seeking, "Yes, I do. It's something I love about you. I just want you to strike a balance between that and being judgmental."
And I have. I spent that weekend without you reviewing an old list, yellow on its first pages and white on its newest, crossing people and the offenses they had committed against me off of it. I burned it in the barbecue while our neighbor Cami looked on.
"Wishes?" she asked. "Are you burning your wishes for the genies?"
I smiled and looked up at her. "No, I am forgiving some people I should have done that for a long time ago."
I did not tell you what I had done, and I did not tell you how many times I had not added a name to that list when you soothed my hurt and anger before I burned it.
I will tell you that I am slower to take personal offense, fast to let it go, and completely willing to accept the known risks of people's foibles, and to either include them or exclude them from my life based on that critical calculus you gave me.
"It's important to forgive people for yourself," you said. "Sometimes, you should try to forget what they did to hurt you, too. But you shouldn't always forget, because some people don't make mistakes, they're just never going to be good to you."
When you told me that, I saw that rare and absolutely heartbreaking look cross your face in a blink of an eye, and I wondered what it was you were remembering.
But I am glad I do not know, because it may have revived the list, or maybe would have been something I did that made you gulp like that. By then, I had not learned the one most important lesson of your whole outlook.
I had not learned to forgive myself.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Anniversary
You were here.
I smelled your perfume around me.
I felt your warmth beside me.
I heard your voice behind me.
I tasted your lips against me.
I knew your soul as my own.
I saw your face before me.
You were mine.
I woke to you each morning.
I lived for you every day.
I ran to you each evening.
I held you every night.
I cherished every moment.
We were one.
We lived in our communion.
We loved and feared in union.
We walked beside each other.
We shared with one another.
We faced the world together.
We were strong.
Our love seemed never ending.
Our faith was unrelenting.
Our passion was unbridled.
Our bond could not be broken.
Our hearts could conquer all.
I am thankful.
Your loving touch transformed me.
Your gentle ways reformed me.
Your happy manner healed me.
Your patient probes revealed me.
Your lightness helped me soar.
I am here.
I know you are around me.
I know your warmth's beside me.
I know your voice will guide me.
I'll taste your lips against me.
I'll see your face before me.
I smelled your perfume around me.
I felt your warmth beside me.
I heard your voice behind me.
I tasted your lips against me.
I knew your soul as my own.
I saw your face before me.
You were mine.
I woke to you each morning.
I lived for you every day.
I ran to you each evening.
I held you every night.
I cherished every moment.
We were one.
We lived in our communion.
We loved and feared in union.
We walked beside each other.
We shared with one another.
We faced the world together.
We were strong.
Our love seemed never ending.
Our faith was unrelenting.
Our passion was unbridled.
Our bond could not be broken.
Our hearts could conquer all.
I am thankful.
Your loving touch transformed me.
Your gentle ways reformed me.
Your happy manner healed me.
Your patient probes revealed me.
Your lightness helped me soar.
I am here.
I know you are around me.
I know your warmth's beside me.
I know your voice will guide me.
I'll taste your lips against me.
I'll see your face before me.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Letter to Marcie-Music
Dear Marcie,
You gave me music. Of course, in the figurative sense, we made beautiful music together. But you gave me music from people I had not before appreciated.
Who knew I would learn to like some of these things. Sure, we had our common ground, U2,The Who, English Beat, The Cure. So many others... but you gave me the idea that current did not necessarily mean "sucks." I am so very grateful.
You always stretched the edges a bit. You went from ABBA and Beegees to ZZ Top and the Cars, to Tori Amos and Sara Maclauchlan and back to Led Zeppelin, over to Soft Cell, The Violent Femmes and Concrete Blonde, even some Sex Pistols and threw in a little En Vogue and Mya.
I remember flipping between 101.5 and 91X, 102.1 and occasioanlly 94.9 You indulged my need to listen to classical, and you even had your own favorites in that genre. We had a million songs just for us, all of them based on something or some sweet moment we were living together in.
I Have saved your last MP3 set. I hear so much in them and I had to stop listening for a bit. I will get back to them. You communicated so much in that music, in those songs. I will finish and think about each of them, no matter how much it aches, I promise.
I am most grateful to you for introducing me to the songbirds of our age. There is nothing that lulls me to sleep and calm or just relaxation like a songbird's voice. I have been accused by a friend of being "pretty damn Lilith Fair for how aggro your are."
Yeah, it was Dean. Of course you knew that, right?
Well, there was only one voice i truly could not stay angry in the presence of, and it was yours. It still is, actually. I so love when I can recall it and you are so clear in my heart and my ears. When you visit in dreams, it echoes for weeks.
It is and was a small but potent part of you that I still cherish. Thank you for both the music I listen to now, the broadening of my tastes, and the sweetness of your own music in my soul.
I know you did not like her, my sweet, but one person I never won you over on was Natalie Merchant. However, she does ring a note in me, and sometimes as much with her words as her voice.
This last discovery crushed me at first, but I realize now that much of it would never be. I could never disappoint you by not finishing my work here, but the song is beautiful, and I wish I had the years with you it is written around.
Someone did justice to the song in pictures. I wish I had seen us at that age, but that will never be. We deserved to see those days, I know that.
For now, my love, good night.
Me
Someday I will sing this song myself, and change just one word. When I do, I will share it with all of you in a more illustrative video of Marcie and I.
You gave me music. Of course, in the figurative sense, we made beautiful music together. But you gave me music from people I had not before appreciated.
Who knew I would learn to like some of these things. Sure, we had our common ground, U2,The Who, English Beat, The Cure. So many others... but you gave me the idea that current did not necessarily mean "sucks." I am so very grateful.
You always stretched the edges a bit. You went from ABBA and Beegees to ZZ Top and the Cars, to Tori Amos and Sara Maclauchlan and back to Led Zeppelin, over to Soft Cell, The Violent Femmes and Concrete Blonde, even some Sex Pistols and threw in a little En Vogue and Mya.
I remember flipping between 101.5 and 91X, 102.1 and occasioanlly 94.9 You indulged my need to listen to classical, and you even had your own favorites in that genre. We had a million songs just for us, all of them based on something or some sweet moment we were living together in.
I Have saved your last MP3 set. I hear so much in them and I had to stop listening for a bit. I will get back to them. You communicated so much in that music, in those songs. I will finish and think about each of them, no matter how much it aches, I promise.
I am most grateful to you for introducing me to the songbirds of our age. There is nothing that lulls me to sleep and calm or just relaxation like a songbird's voice. I have been accused by a friend of being "pretty damn Lilith Fair for how aggro your are."
Yeah, it was Dean. Of course you knew that, right?
Well, there was only one voice i truly could not stay angry in the presence of, and it was yours. It still is, actually. I so love when I can recall it and you are so clear in my heart and my ears. When you visit in dreams, it echoes for weeks.
It is and was a small but potent part of you that I still cherish. Thank you for both the music I listen to now, the broadening of my tastes, and the sweetness of your own music in my soul.
I know you did not like her, my sweet, but one person I never won you over on was Natalie Merchant. However, she does ring a note in me, and sometimes as much with her words as her voice.
This last discovery crushed me at first, but I realize now that much of it would never be. I could never disappoint you by not finishing my work here, but the song is beautiful, and I wish I had the years with you it is written around.
Someone did justice to the song in pictures. I wish I had seen us at that age, but that will never be. We deserved to see those days, I know that.
For now, my love, good night.
Me
Someday I will sing this song myself, and change just one word. When I do, I will share it with all of you in a more illustrative video of Marcie and I.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
A letter to Marcie
Hello, my love
It has been a year. One year ago, my heart cracked and then broke as you slipped away. What a terrible night. That night will always haunt me with your kindness, your strength and courage, which all inspire me, and always will.
I thought, for the first few months, that I would not make it without you. I felt myself dying a little, day by day. I took care of myself, inside I just felt empty.
My longing for you ached like the hunger of a starving child. I noticed, as the months passed, your visits bolstered me. You nourished me with your soft presence and your happiness, so long forgotten in our lives, was a relief to see in our strange revels.
Of course, I have tried to write everything I can about the beauty of you, your spirit and your heart, your strength and your joy in life. I think you have approved, so far. I have tried to document everything that you made special in our lives, too. I think I have a good start...
I have been sorting my writing for your book. I know it would never be written if you still breathed, as modest as you are. But it will be. I need to have something of you outlast me. It was always my belief you would be there after me.
Sometimes I am glad, because this life beyond yours is so hard. I imagine it's what yours without me would have been like. I wouldn't want this for you, really.
I have so much to thank you for, my love. I will spend the next two weeks, between now and our anniversary, recalling them in letters to you.
Until the next letter, then. I miss you,
Me
It has been a year. One year ago, my heart cracked and then broke as you slipped away. What a terrible night. That night will always haunt me with your kindness, your strength and courage, which all inspire me, and always will.
I thought, for the first few months, that I would not make it without you. I felt myself dying a little, day by day. I took care of myself, inside I just felt empty.
My longing for you ached like the hunger of a starving child. I noticed, as the months passed, your visits bolstered me. You nourished me with your soft presence and your happiness, so long forgotten in our lives, was a relief to see in our strange revels.
Of course, I have tried to write everything I can about the beauty of you, your spirit and your heart, your strength and your joy in life. I think you have approved, so far. I have tried to document everything that you made special in our lives, too. I think I have a good start...
I have been sorting my writing for your book. I know it would never be written if you still breathed, as modest as you are. But it will be. I need to have something of you outlast me. It was always my belief you would be there after me.
Sometimes I am glad, because this life beyond yours is so hard. I imagine it's what yours without me would have been like. I wouldn't want this for you, really.
I have so much to thank you for, my love. I will spend the next two weeks, between now and our anniversary, recalling them in letters to you.
Until the next letter, then. I miss you,
Me