A Random Letter To A Friend

Before I take you back, let me tell you a little about what is going on with me this week. A lot of it is not going to make a lot of sense (as I have yet to explain) but it will give me a place to start...
Tomorrow is another day at work for me. I will rise early and get ready to go to work. The only thing is, it will be difficult, as it always is, to get out of bed. I'll want to get up early-setting my clock for 6:30 a.m. like I do every night before I go to bed. But when 6:30 comes around, I'll hit the snooze button, like I always do, and I'll roll over and go back to sleep.
When I finally do make it to work, I discover that I don't know where to start. There is so much work to be done-and I'm behind as usual. There are at least five to ten messages on my answering machine-parents who want to talk to me about how their children have behaved, teachers informing me of a kid not at school for the entire month, and people wanting to know where their children are and why they have been arrested.
I like my job, but sometimes when the phone rings, I don't want to pick it up. I want to concentrate on all the other things I have to do before I can possibly even attempt to tackle a new task. But inevitably, the loud ring of the phone startles me into the reality that it is part of my job to answer the phone.
Pretty soon, it will be lunchtime. I'll want to go somewhere, get away for my lunch hour, do anything but sit inside in the dungeon where I work that has no windows-but I don't because that will mean I'll have to leave an hour later. Instead, I sit quietly at my desk, munching on whatever I managed to scrape together the night before to bring to work.
I can hear my co-workers talking and laughing down the hall. I want to talk and laugh with them, but there are two obstacles. The first is that I have so much work to do, I fear that spending time talking with them will only prevent me from getting any real work done. And the other obstacle simply is, I don't really feel as though I have a connection with them; sometimes I get the feeling they don't really like me. But then the feeling passes, and I just keep on working.
Pretty soon, the day is over and I gratefully pack my stuff and leave my office much the same as I found it-cluttered with files and odds and ends and tons more work to be done tomorrow. I head up the stairs, finally getting to see light (and see that it is now growing dark outside) and hurry to my car. If I'm lucky, there will be good songs playing on the radio to keep me company on my 40 minute-or so drive home from work. As I drive, my mind wanders to every place you can possibly imagine. I revisit the event of the day, think about the work that must be done tomorrow, and try to hurry home as fast as possible so that I can take Brinkley, my dog, outside before he goes to the bathroom in the house.
I don't want to go back home most of the time-it's cold and empty and I currently live with a roommate who has few morals and even less feelings. But I will talk about him later. I keep thinking, especially lately, of all the friends I left behind in Oregon.
My thoughts shift to my friend Norma (you) who was my very best friend while I was there. I start to feel as though I have let her down, and I am ashamed. I look back on how we used to watch Friends every night, eat ice cream, and laugh about the antics of our days. Times seemed simpler, easier then. Everything seemed all right and so great-before I journeyed off to college. And that, it seems, is where I left myself. Somewhere in the halls of the dorms or perhaps the classrooms, the Sarah that you might remember still stays there, trying to find herself. But it is a journey I would like to take you on. Perhaps together, we can discover what happened and where she went.
I loved my college. It made me feel so important and special that I could attend a college as prestigious and great as Pacific University. My opportunity to live in the dorm was like embarking on an adventure that I had never even dreamed of before. I would be surrounded by people, and for the first time in my life, could do whatever it was I wanted.
My first roommate, Faith, was the kind of roommate we don't want to remember. She had mousy brown hair and a sort of drawn face that made you think that she frowned a lot and her face had stayed that way. She complained about everything. She rearranged her bed to hide the microwave from the Resident Assistant. Her boyfriend was named "Christoper" but he went by the name "Topher." He was enormously tall and had stinky feet. Inevitably, the disgusting smell would find its way to my bed at night and prevent me from sleeping well. Worse, they both snored so loudly, it felt as if an earthquake happened every couple of minutes. I found it especially ironic that Kathy visited not too long after I first moved in-and Faith was away at her parents house. Well, Kathy had this habit of wearing shoes without socks and the wet weather made her old shoes smell obnoxious. So she came and spent the night and wearing a different pair, we came back to my room to discover it smelled like rotten things in my room. So someone got the genius idea to wrap up the shoes in Faith's blanket. I laughed until I cried when Faith casually noted her blanket smelled bad upon her return. I suggested that Topher had "struck again" and never told her the truth.
During this time, I wasn't sure how to make friends. Growing up in a small town caused the inevitable to happen: you have automatic friends because you see every one of your classmates so often. The people you grow up with end up being your friends. At college, there were so many different people, I didn't really know where to start.
A girl named Jodi lived down the hall and her roommate (whose name I can't remember) was obnoxious. Jodi was from Alaska, the state where the male population supposedly outnumbers the female population by 5 to 1 (although Jodi would argue that it was untrue). She was independent, fun-loving, and loved Pepsi. She had quite a collection of cans in her room. Oh, and she loved frogs too. She was short and athletic and had dark skin and eyes; she was very beautiful to me. I liked her instantly.
Another girl, Emma, lived upstairs with a roommate I cannot recall. Somehow, I befriended a girl named "Melissa" whom Emma introduced me to. Emma was trying to be in a sorority "Theta Nu Alpha" and it seemed cool to me, so I asked to try out for it too.
Emma was loud and obnoxious and her nickname was "squeaky" because of the way she squeaked about everything. Everything about her was larger than life. She was a big girl, yet skinny in a strange way that I didn't understand. She was from Reno, Nevada. There were problems with her and her mother and she had a really big anger problem. But underneath it all, Emma was a wonderful, genuine girl.
So we tried out for Theta Nu Alphas together. Of course they said that hazing was illegal, but they made us do it anyway. We had to do stupid stuff all week (I can't remember exactly what now) and it all culminated to a late night trip to Safeway blindfolded and ending at the bathroom where we were supposed to touch "poo" in the toilet (still blindfolded) as a measure of trust. But all it really was was a banana and chocolate sauce. You supposedly got extra points if you ate it. I knew the trick in advance (my friend had clued me in) and still refused to eat the banana. Ewwww…. It was in the toilet after all.
Meanwhile, Faith (my roommate) became more and more obnoxious. She made demands and let Topher sleep over every single night. I wasn't opposed to her having a boyfriend, but why they couldn't sleep in his room was beyond me.
So Emma and I decided to become roommates. She had slowly become a really good friend. And the some of the "sisters" in the sorority Alice and Eliza, were really amazing people.
Part of the way I paid for college was to do the "Federal Work Study" program which enables the student to get a job on campus as a way to pay for part of their tuition. My job was to work in the computer lab several nights a week. Boy did I get an easy, awesome deal. All I had to do was sit in the computer lab and answer questions and make sure no one walked off with any computer goods. The only bad part about it was that sometimes I was stuck there late at night during the evenings and weekends when it was the last place I wanted to be.
I remember one night, a few of my sorority friends camed and "rescued" me shortly before midnight. Alice drove up in her car toting Emma and Eliza and they wanted to get away they said and couldn't leave without me.
The four of us quickly became the best of friends. Alice was the nerd in the group-if you could even call her that. She was short and chunky with dark hair and giant old-lady glasses that were reminiscent of a style that died in the seventies. But she wore them proudly; she was like the mother of the group. She was really smart, loved theater, and was from Arkansas. She came to Pacific University on a free ride; her father worked as the head of campus maintenance. Eliza, whom I grew to respect immeasurably, was tall and thin and had short dark hair that contrasted her milky white skin. She was wild and wacky and always had an opinion on everything. You'd swear there was always a cigarette somewhere nearby because she loved to smoke. It was her thing. She represented to me the sort of wild, unbridled freedom that I always envied.
For a while, it felt like I was on top of the world. We'd go out, the four of us, and sing crazy "Friends" theme songs or whatever. We'd go to Shari's at unimaginable hours just for something to do. We would sit and laugh and make friends with the waitresses who knew us all by first name.
We loved Shari's and The Olive Garden. But things, like time, has a way of changing.
But that story I will share with you another time.

Winds of Change

Take me to the magic of the moment
On a glory night
Where the children of tomorrow share their dreams
With you and me
Take me to the magic of the moment
On a glory night
Where the children of tomorrow dream
away in the wind of change--The Scorpions

If you typically asked a person whether or not they liked change, I wonder if the majority would say they like change, or whether or not they prefer things that are stable, routine.
I think most of us like to think we like change. When one politician gets into office and does a poor job, we can't wait to see what the next new person can bring to the table. We can't wait for the change. Sometimes, their term of office seems too long to wait.
I think that we have become such an impatient society that we want others to think that we like change, when in reality, change is difficult.
Change is difficult. Change can't happen overnight. This has been said so often, we cannot forget it. It seems as though adults have a less easier time adapting to change because, I think as we get older, we get more settled into routines that we are comfortable with. Once happy with an everyday adventure, as we age, we begin to prioritize our lives and our time differently. I think that we begin to see time as something we don't have enough of. We rush to have others change, but are slow to change ourselves.
In relationships, some people want to see a change in their partner... but when a change is made, they do not know how to deal with it-because they had become accustomed to the way things used to be as opposed to the way things are.
We want change, we bring about change, but then fight it when it comes around. The couples, it seems to me, who make it-are the ones who adapt to change well and who understand that process.
The question then becomes how to adapt to change when the last thing we want is for things to change. It's easier for us when things stay the same because then we don't worry so much or have to do as much work. For example, in my six year relationship, eventually my boyfriend and I settled into a sort of routine that worked for us as a couple. We'd come home and do our own thing, content to share the same space without constantly feeling the need to be tangled up with each other. The problem was, when change came about-it threw our relationship off.
I was laid-off from my job when it was bought out by another company. Suddenly, I had the opportunity (as scary as it was) to change my career and start over again. But I think that S (as I'll call him) was afraid of change, afraid of how it would affect our routine. Instead of being supportive, he became hurtful and mean and made me feel as though he didn't think I could do it. He actually told me that. "I don't think you're going to like it." he said. "I think you won't be able to handle it." It wasn't just about my getting a new job, it was about the changes it would bring about in our relationship.
I think that when things change in a negative way, it's easier to blame someone or some outside influence or source as the reason for why things went wrong. But the truth of it all is, life and the people in it, are constantly changing. If we want to have someone change but then aren't prepared when they do, then perhaps we should find the answers to our questions within ourselves and really figure out why we do not handle change well.
Personally, I don't think I handle change well. I'd like to think that I used to and that I handle it as well as most. As a person who has never really settled down in one spot, I am constantly in flux, constantly unsettled, changing. My roommate changes, situations adjust, feelings change, etc. and instead of always embracing it, there are times when I too get angry. Part of the reason I became so upset after J left was because it forced me out of a comfortable routine, a routine that I coincidentally loved. It forced me to reevaluate my life and do things a little differently. I had to move, had to make new friends, had to start over. That was a whole lot of change almost overnight.
Part of the reason I feel that some of us get over lost loves slower than others is because I think a part of us is still attached to that routine, to feeling loved, feeling safe, feeling secure in the routine.
I know that I don't always handle change well and it becomes more difficult to adjust to as I get older. In fact, as one ages, I think life beckons us to slow down and change less. We begin to place more emphasis on families, and watching the next generation grow, and place less emphasis on ourselves. Suddenly, change is reserved for those younger and those starting their lives with that same sense of adventure and curiosity that drove us as children.
Today, I realized that one of the driving forces that makes me happy to get out of bed every day knowing that I am going to deal with crappy, cranky, unhappy children in an attempt to fix their lives is because this: since I am no longer able to change as quickly or like it as much, I cannot help but be drawn to those who do or can.
To see the light go on in someone else's heart as they make a realization and make a complete change is so rare, that it feels like a miracle when it happens. It is that miracle that I think parents love witnessing in their children. For example, a child realizes they like horses and so they change. Suddenly a room that was full of Winnie the Pooh is replaced by "My Little Pony" and pictures of wild, dusty places. This change, this enlightenment, is the driving force behind much of what I do.
I see that I have an opportunity, ever so slight, to witness change. To see a child (or teenager) take an opportunity and run with it-really make a positive, healthy change in their life and really realize what it's all about. That sort of self-actualization is so rare in a society that seems to place emphasis on staying the same.
Witnessing the miracle of change makes everything I do worth it. To see a child smile or feel loved or get off drugs, or graduate from high school is a proud moment. To see them realize their full potential is truly an amazing thing. It's truly like witnessing a miracle. How else can you explain a complete change of heart, change of point-of-view, change of a life?
I think that we get angry with change when it doesn't benefit us. But we appreciate change when it brings about what we want. Change is necessary because it helps us grow-even when we don't get what we want. Change helps us be more flexible and helps push us in new directions we had not considered before.
Instead of fearing the journeys we are taking, we should embrace them. But it's easier said than done, I admit. I look at people who are open to change and I look up to them, respect them. When I see someone who's life is in flux, and who deals with it in a positive way, I can't help but appreciate and admire their strength and courage. Those people who flounder and complain with change, truly make me feel that they're not growing and they never will until they see that going in another direction might just be better or more amazing than the path they took to get there.
Meanwhile, I sort of sit back and watch as the people change around me-hoping to see more of these miracles at work, and praying that the ones who can't or won't change will someday see the light. I pray too, that I learn from them, and learn to accept change because like it or not, tomorrow will be different than today, and the winds of change will begin to blow ...
Speaking of which, it reminds me of the song by the Scorpions about the winds of change when the Berlin wall finally went down and brought about a change in Germany. Change can be the thing that breaks down walls and builds up hearts. Let's hope that we never stop changing.
Take me to the magic of the momentOn a glory nightWhere the children of tomorrow share their dreamsWith you and meTake me to the magic of the momentOn a glory nightWhere the children of tomorrow dream awayin the wind of change

The Truth (as I see It)

What a man believes upon grossly insufficient evidence is an index into his desires -- desires of which he himself is often unconscious. If a man is offered a fact which goes against his instincts, he will scrutinize it closely, and unless the evidence is overwhelming, he will refuse to believe it. If, on the other hand, he is offered something which affords a reason for acting in accordance to his instincts, he will accept it even on the slightest evidence. The origin of myths is explained in this way.
--Bertrand Russell
It seems that no one likes to hear the truth. We live in a world where the truth is over-rated and oven down played. Commercials on television portray a world that isn't the truth, but often a world we want it to be-where people are happy and happy endings happen every day. We are encouraged to buy products to make ourselves believe a different sort of truth skewed to our perceptions of what life should be, not what it actually is.
If we actually saw life for what it really is, and faced the truth, many of us couldn't handle it. For that reason, we often expect others to tell us what we want to hear (as in the quote above) because it's easier to believe what we want to hear than the truth.
Now, there's a difference between truth and an opinion. An opinion could be right or wrong-but in the end, it is just an opinion. Even when it comes to sharing opinions, people don't want to hear anything negative.
A lot has changed in my life; I am no longer that little scared girl, constantly afraid of my mother as I once was. But even through my fear, my constant battles, I learned the importance of always telling the truth.
Mark Twain said, "When in doubt, tell the truth." For me, there was no other way to go-because even when I told the truth, Mom didn't believe me. When I lied, she didn't believe me. But more often than not, the truth seemed to make me feel the best. So I just started being honest.
When I went to school, I often told tall tales in my younger years because I wanted acceptance and to be liked. But a situation happened that convinced me that the only way I could avoid trouble was to tell the truth.
The problem is, it's the truth as I see it. This need to be honest, to tell the truth, has carried into my adult life and it has been both a burden and a blessing.
Being honest, even in giving my opinion, is a very delicate matter. The truth of it all is, I should be more cautious sometimes in what I say. In my earnestness to give the truth, I often over-step my bounds as a friend. Worse, sometimes my opinion is wrong. I value knowing people but even my opinion isn't always going to be the way things are or even the way things should be.
I have always sought to give my opinion because I don't think a good friendship or relationship is always built on what a person wants to hear. If we want to hear a bunch of crap, we'll turn on the television. When we turn to our friends, we should want the truth from the people who know us the best.
Henry Ward Beecher says, "It is one of the severest tests of friendship to tell your friend his faults. So to love a man that you cannot bear to see a stain upon him, and to speak painful truth through loving words, that is friendship." While I only intend to bring the my opinion to someone out of love and respect for their friendship, I secrety chastize myself when I go too far.
Today is such a day. My secret heart, the one that feels the things I cannot say, cries out and I fear it's so loud, others will hear it. What I mean to say is, sometimes I have to give people my opinion and it hurts me to say it. Sometimes, there are things I wish I was strong enough to say, but cannot.
There are times when my own personal feelings in a particular situation get in the way of the truth or of my wanting to tell them the truth. I fear I might offend them or worse, tell them the truth so bluntly that I appear insensitive or cruel. These are my friends and while they should not be treated with kid-gloves, they are my friends, people whom I've come to know and love. When I see them hurting, I know that they don't want to hear the truth-they want to hear that everything is going to be all right.
When my friends have made a difficult decision, they want to be assured that it was the right one-even when it comes with a cost.
I think it's ultimately important to me that other people know the great struggle that occurs when I actually give them the truth as I see it. I don't say it to be hurtful or mean and I don't consider myself anyone. Who am I? I'm just a friend who cares. But I have feelings.
Sometimes, wanting to say the truth should negate those feelings. Telling my friend who's struggling in a relationship that everything is going to be all right when I don't believe it will be is like lying. I care because they're my friend and I want them to be happy. But I sometimes feel as though I have to hide those feelings instead of telling my friends the truth.
Benjamin Disraeli says, "Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so, you apologize for the truth." I share with people how I feel so that their lives will be better. I share the truth of how I feel so that they will do the same with me. If I lie to you about how I feel, then what is the point of our friendship? Having someone who is always going to tell you what you want to hear is like having something no more real than a hologram.
Yet, I am not perfect. Sometimes I speak too harshly or I cannot say what I really want to say. Those are the moments when I wonder if I'm truly being a good friend. But in the end, I realize that I'm flawed and I can only try.
I try to give the truth to everyone and sometimes it comes back to bite me later. Perhaps they take it the wrong way or perhaps they don't want my opinion. But I can only aspire to be a better friend by being honest.
I guess the reaosn I bring all this up is because while some view honesty as a gift, I view it as a curse sometimes. When there's someone in my life who I'm interested in, for example, I think I expect myself to be honest. Being honest would mean admitting to them (and to myself?) that I like them. It would mean putting it all out there, risking getting rejected, just in my earnest attempt at honesty. The moment comes, and then it passes. Somehow my mouth doesn't utter any words of that truth. I think when that moment passes, it's as if the guy understands. It's as if a golden opportunity has come and gone.
So to give an example, there's someone I've liked for quite a while. No point in giving names, except I'll give him a letter R. We have technically known each other for a couple of years. When we're around each other, he'll ask my opinion about someone and I'll tell him. But when that moment comes to be bold and flirty, I back away. I want to tell him the truth, but I can't. So a couple of months ago, it seemed like the opportunity came around again, and I said nothing. And now, he doesn't really talk to me anymore. He'll call me when he wants my opinion, my truth on something, but it's as if the chasm between us widens with each step. Why is it that I can be so honest with everyone except those I really care about?
I want to tell them how wonderful they are, but accidentally, inevitably, tell them the complete opposite. I think that, having observed my honesty, my outgoing personality, that they assume that if I liked them, I'd make some type of overt move, some type of statement such as, "I like you." But in the end, my fear comes out and my honesty is restricted to everyone else.
Worse, I have even felt as though I've helped certain relationships grow stronger when I personally felt as though it wouldn't work in the end. I don't even know how to explain that. It's almost as if I am so shy, I'd rather help a guy find someone great even when my secret heart won't admit that I like him.
One time, I helped a guy friend of mine (who I guess I really liked) find a girl whom he ended up almost marrying. When he'd ask my opinion about things, I wanted to tell him the truth which was, "I like you and would treat you better than that." But the truth never slipped out. What came instead was, "I'll help you with that."
I think it all goes back to the fact that we'd rather not hear the truth. I think I want to hear the truth, but I am not so sure that I want to hear that familiar sound of rejection, of admitting that someone doesn't see the potential in me. Instead, I play the part of the ever vigilant friend. Being a friend is much easier than being rejected. I guess the truth is, I don't want to hear the truth. I don't want to hear that I'm not pretty enough, thin enough, or good enough in some other way. So I'd rather just be a friend, accepted, trusted so that I get to enjoy their company that way.
As far as my friends are concerned, I tell them the truth because I love them and because even when it's hard for me to hear the truth, I still need to know it. Because knowing the truth of how someone feels might make me a better person, might make me realize things about myself that I want to change, might make me grow.
And as for me, someday, I'm hoping that someone will see the truth in me. Perhaps in seeking the truth, we'll both find our paths lie together. They will give me the honest truth, and will see the truth in me-and my fears will be unimportant because the truth will shine through. They'll see love in my expressions, and even when I completely mess it up (which is probably pretty often) they'll still love me. Even when I can't tell them I care about them, because I'm too afraid of rejection, they'll see the truth of my heart underneath.
Perhaps what we all need is a little more honesty, a little more truth. But that requires respect for one another and unconditional love. But don't take my word for it. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant."Unarmed truth simply means truth without harm. I aspire to bring truth without harm. Becuase the truth, even when difficult to hear and rejected, is stronger than a lie. And the truth, as I see it, is that we all deserve to be loved. We deserve love from our relationships and our friends. Even if that means we don't always get to hear what we want to.

Flames To Dust

Honestly what will become of me don't like reality

It's way too clear to me

But really life is daily

We are what we don't see

Missed everything daydreaming

Flames to dust

Lovers to friends

Why do all good things come to an end

--Nelly Furtado

I don't know how to start this. I have so much to say that I don't know where to begin. It all started the night before last... lately, I have been really unable to sleep well. But the night before last, I fell into a deep sleep.
I had a dream about him, the guy I affectionately refer to as J. I had a dream that I couldn't recall when I woke up. But a persistent feeling overwhelmed me. I had given it thought months ago and then quickly dismissed it. I decided that a part of my heart, the part that won't allow me to become attached to someone new, was still struggling with the fact that J had hurt me and I never felt it was resolved. I woke up and decided that I had to write him a letter, one last letter-just to tell him how I felt. The feeling was so strong, that I knew it was something I'd follow through on. I briefly wondered what had possessed me. After all, J and I hadn't spoken in ... I couldn't remember how long.
As I was going about the dredgery of an ordinary work day, I saw a face appear in my doorway with a smile. It was him.
"Wanna go to lunch?" he asked me. I didn't even give it a second thought before replying. I gathered my things, ushered a client out of my office, and that's when my heart lept into my throat. He never asked me to lunch; something was going on. The only time he ever seemed to want to see me these days was when there was some incredible news to share. This is it, I thought to myself. They are going to get married.
Strangely, it wasn't the thought of them getting married that bothered me as much as his big production about telling me things like that. He'd never just come out and tell me; it was as if he always had to break the news to me gently-as if the world was coming to an end. But I realize now, that's just the way he is and always has been. But I was wrong about what he had to tell me ... I just didn't know it yet.
We walked to his car, and I could still feel that something between us. I had just begun to feel normal again, and he had to come around.
We had lunch together, talking about our lives and the people in them as if it were only a few days since we last spoke and not the truth of it which was like an ocean between us; so much had happened, so much that we couldn't change or take back.
His girlfriend is due soon. I know the name of the baby; I know so many things I shouldn't know. But that's the trouble when you work in a place that's like a family. The news comes and goes and spreads like a fire. At one time, he and I had been careful to hide our relationship in fear that, if found out, it could look bad for both our careers. Supervisors don't usually date peons. But I didn't really care about it as much as he did. For all the care we took, people still knew. So now that they have been surprised with the news that he has another girlfriend and she's pregant, there seems to be no end to their constant inquiries... it's as if his life and all the dirty laundry between us is on display. People can't understand what went wrong between us and I don't really have an answer to give them.
I was nervous during lunch-waiting for the ball to drop-waiting for the news he had come to bring to me to be brought up. And before I was even prepared, I blurted out, "Have you come to tell me you're getting married?"
"No." He looked at me strangely.
"The thing is ..." he paused, and then in a hushed tone said, "Well, the thing is, I really miss you."
I felt as though my heart stopped beating.
"And I'd really like you to be able to come over when you want to. I really want us to be friends. And I think that she is finally coming around to the idea."
Friends? Who was he kidding. We weren't friends. We were no more friends than we were acquainted with each other. It was as if two strangers were sitting together having lunch ... and yet, there it was, still that connection that lingered between us.
Even though so much time had passed, he could still feel my thoughts and read my expressions. My face and expressions were an open book and our minds, still more alike than I realized or cared to admit.
The truth was, whether I cared to admit it or not, there was something still hanging between us--a silent question that lingered in the dark distance that had grown yet somehow shackled us together all at the same time: could we still be friends?
I told him that I had decided that I didn't know if we could be friends-because I respected her and knew that she deserved to feel safe and secure in their relationship. But when he told me he missed me, I wanted to crawl back into his arms and tell him everything was going to be all right.
But I was torn. Here we were, months later, closing doors that were still left open. I know now that we purposely left them open because somewhere, deep in our hearts, we still love each other. Of course our love could no longer be realized. She was pregnant and I have moved on. A lot has changed and yet little. This was the time when we would have to make a decision on whether or not we closed the door forever and became friends, or left it open, and struggled on for years with unsettled feelings.
I think we both knew the answer; I told him that his friendship was important to me, even though I had already told him that I would give it up in a heartbeat if it made her uspet.
Closing that door means that we can never go back. He told me that too, over lunch. "I can't go back and think about what if's or different decisions I could have made," he said. "I simply have to deal with what I have in front of me and work it out."
It was one of the most intelligent and level-headed things I had ever heard him say. Yet I knew that I couldn't close that door to our relationship without telling him how it all had affected me.
I told him, very briefly, that he had really hurt my self esteem and I told him how I felt as though he abandoned me when I needed him the most. I let out all of the hurt I had harboured these past two years with as little emotion and as much ease as I could.
Normally, my telling him these things would have resulted in anger, defensiveness, and an abrupt end to our lunch. But for the first time, he met my words with integrity, honesty, and apology. He apologized and told me, "It was not your fault. It was never about you. I want you to know that. It was me. It was my fault; it was my bad." He didn't get angry or defensive and I could see a change in him. But telling him how I felt, and by him saying what he did, it was as if an unspoken fog had lifted and our hearts could finally be free. He had felt guilt that needed to be resolved and my heart needed closure and acceptance. It couldn't have worked out more perfectly.
To put it mildly, it was like a miracle. I wish I could describe it better and truly do it justice. It was as if God was closing up all the loose ends of my life so that I could move on to something else.
We ended our lunch in peace and friendship, having closed the door on our relationship forever. While it almost seems easier for me to have a reason to hate him, I feel as though everything is going to be okay; he is forgiven for everything. We can now move on and get back to being friends again. But one thing will never change--I will always love him and love what we had for that short time.
I think that love just is what it is. It doesn't always have a reason or a meaning or a deeper truth. You can't always help who you love. God puts people in your life for a moment or a lifetime and you just have to enjoy them while they are with you and around you. I know now that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Because now I have the idea of someone, the idea of love, the idea of taking this life and making my next relationship into something great. For a moment, I got to love and be a part of something great.
The best thing is, I have learned to trust again. I have learned to give again, without expecting something in return. I have learned that there is a reason for things, you just have to discover what that is.
There were so many things about J that I loved. The things I loved the most were things that I can still enjoy in our friendship. The only thing I still am searching for is that connection ... and I won't settle for any less in someone else.
So I don't know how to end this blog ... few of us get the kind of closure that we need to feel better. It took two years for me to get it and perhaps, at last, I can sleep.

The weather has grown colder and the leaves, at least on the non-palm trees have begun to gather on the ground-a reminder that the holidays and colder weather are just around the corner.
Today was a beautiful day; as the sun was setting behind the beautiful palm trees, I couldn't help but take a moment to admire the beauty of it all. I think sometimes I take for granted how great it is to be free. Given where I have come from, it is a miracle and a blessing.
A long time ago, I was afraid of my mother. I was so afraid when she came home, I would physically shake with fear. I had gotten used to her coming up from behind me and grabbing my hair with force as she'd drag me along to whatever destination in the house she wanted me to be in. It used to be that whenever anyone came up behind me and touched me, I would scream because it scared me so much. For the longest time, people thought it was funny to come up behind me and abruptly grab my shoulders, sending me into an instant panic. After the adrenaline rush had subsided, I would get very upset that they had made fun of something about me they didn't understand.
The truth of it was, I didn't tell anyone about my pain. Most people who thought they knew me only knew what I chose to show them. On the outside, I bounced around like tigger, but on the inside, I was full of anger and sadness.
Looking back on pictures from my youth, I can see in my eyes a sort of glazed, dead look-a look of someone who has seen more than they should, more than they wanted.
The truth of it is, I see that look every day in some of my clients. They bounce into my office and think that they are fooling me-but I've seen that look and know it well.
The real question is why they feel that way. I know they have seen things and experienced things that a young mind has difficulty comprehending or understanding. It's difficult for a parent to see that look as they go about their busy work day, working full time, some even with two jobs, in order to keep up their family and stay afloat. They might notice that dead look, but all they can do is watch as their son or daughter grow further and further away.
When a child has the glazed over look, they cease to care. They don't care about the dangers of using drugs-because at least they have something that makes them feel good. They don't care if they get killed in a gang, because at least they're surrounded by people who pretend to care. The worse thing that parents can do to their children is treat them with indifference, as if they don't matter. Some parents treat their children as pets, to be used for their own purposes (such as babysitting, etc.) or ignored completely.
I see the dead look in their eyes and I can't help but know what it means. The real struggle for me, is trying to wake them from their slumber-trying to help them care again. I sometimes feel as though I am attempting to wake the dead. It's difficult to make a child who has been through so much excited about anything-because no one has been consistent in their lives. When people have promised things, they have not followed through. Activities promised have fallen through, and just when that poor child started to care about something, they were hurt. Time after time that happened, until one day-in order to stop hurting-the body's natural self-defense mechanism kicks in, and indifference sets in.
Indifference. Chidren need encouragement and guidance. They can't be left to fend for themselves because this is exactly what will happen-they will join gangs and watch as their friends die in front of them. Pretty soon, they'll try drugs to make the pain they still feel go away... but it won't. And pretty soon, that lifestyle is the only one they know. Dreams like attending college or having a real job are just pipe dreams and unrealistic in a world where respect is law and you have to watch your back every day.
Most of my job is about counseling-encouraging my kids to do what they know is right. Problem is, many of them don't know what's right anymore because it somehow got lost along the way. I encourage kids to care about their future and where they are headed-but most of them haven't even thought about where they'll be in a year, let alone two weeks from now. They are too busy thinking about today. today. today.
These kids are so bright, and they don't even know it. They can talk so well about their sad experiences that it could bring tears to your eyes... but they still are afraid to want more than they have.
In all honesty, I was once one of those haunted children, although it feels like so long ago now. But people helped to lift me up, and made me realize that I could achieve anything I wanted. That mentality has helped carry me through some of the most difficult times in my life... and I want to pass it along to others.
I had the opportunity to visit the real jail for kids-the Youth Authority-where they send the "worst" kids. And though I saw a watered-down "nice" version of the real thing (they let us meet only the best behaved kids), I realized that they talked about murdering people and doing drugs as if discussing the weather. It seemed that nonchalant. I was struck by the realization that these are dead kids that no one had reached out to yet, or had yet to be successful at reaching.
I just wish there was some way to reach every kid, to somehow find a way to wake the dead and bring out the best in each of them. But for now, I feel as though God has really put a difficult task on my plate. He has sent me the knowledge, and has shown me the path to walk, but it is a difficult and challenging one. I sometimes get discouraged when I can't raise a child up enough to the point where he believes in himself. But in the end, I am so glad just to be a part of their lives.
I pray that I one day get the opportunity to have children. If so, I want to lead and guide them and be an active part of their lives so that I never have to see that sad look in their eyes, and never have to watch as they fade away into hopelessness.

The Longest Hour

This might be the most difficult blog I have ever had to write. It all started last week when he called me to ask me what the status was on getting my stuff. I wrote about it on a previous blog. Then, at the end, he suggested we have coffee-a sort of "I'm sorry that we argued" sort of occasion. As the week went on, my heart became more and more sure that he would call and cancel on me, find an excuse or some unavoidable event that made it impossible for us to get together.

I called him to remind him, and he said that we were still going to meet, and suddenly, I realized that something was different. He's always flaked on me in the past, or found a reason to postpone our get-togethers. But an actual meeting meant that he had something to tell me-the inevitability of what would come next was unsettling.

So we left work early and met at Starbucks. I couldn't help but be completely nervous; just seeing him in person always makes my heart do flip flops-an unexpected result of my love for him. He approached me and we hugged, but there was something different about it, something cold. We got our coffees and he asked me how I was doing. I always know when something bad is approaching with him because he'll ask me how I'm doing first, before going into the bad news. We discussed my dog Brinkley and I announced that finally I would be able to take him to my home. I could tell by the look in his eye that he would miss Brinkley; he'd been in his life for over three years now.
"It's not too late for us to have joint custody of him." I joked. Funny thing was, that's not really what I meant, and he knew it; that's how connected we are.
"Well," he paused for a long, silent moment. Then, with a hint of sadness or was that regret? "I can't."
In the next breath, he was telling me that his girlfriend of 10 months was expecting. Pregnant. She was pregnant?

My heart proceeded to drop as he told me that she was already past her first trimester. They knew that they were having a little girl. He told me the news with a sort of saddened pride. I was saddened and imagined my face looking as much without affect as I could possibly stand it.

It was almost like that song, the one I'd played over and over again, by Sarah McLaughlin,

"What ravages of spiritconjured this temptuous rage,created you a monster,broken by the rule of love?And fate has led you through it.You do what you have to do.And fate has led you through it.You do what you have to do…"

This guy, the one that told me that he was never going to have a baby, who promised me that I would find someone before I did, had gotten his girlfriend pregnant. I tried to appear unaffected by the news, and part of me wasn't surprised and the other, was stunned into silence.
The minutes ticked by like hours as he talked about the fact that he claimed he hadn't told me or anyone really, as he was afraid something was going to go wrong. The man who told me over and over again how much he did not really care for children, was going to be a father. Some little girl was going to call him "daddy."

I knew from the day I met him that he would make a good father. We met at a sushi restaurant, he with his arm around a pretty girl, and me with Steve. There was just something about him-the way he talked, the way he moved; I felt different whenever I was around him. But what really made him amazing the day I met him, was the way he treated me. He could tell I'd never had sushi a day in my life and he was considerate and observant. He offered to order for me; offered to teach me how to use chopsticks, etc. Meanwhile, Steve was just sitting there staring at my inability to do it correctly. But even more so was his way of doting on the girl he had brought to dinner. She was gorgeous-blonde hair, blue eyes-little did I know that was to be a commonality in California. He treated her with the most amazing amount of respect. As a stranger, I was sure that they were in love.

My mind forwarded to the present. Here it was, years later, and fate had dealt its hand. He got the very thing he told me he didn't want.

"And I have the sense to recognizethat I don't know how to let you go."

I suddenly got sick to my stomach and my mind started reeling. Everything that was or could be between us, was now erased by the beginning of a new life with someone else. I flashed back to the times we had that were so wonderful.
There was just something about him, right from the beginning. We had this sort of connection, this way of looking at things that went immediately beyond the boundaries of our friendship. It was as if we simply understood one another. He knew just what to say when I needed to hear it. Even when I was with Steve, once in a while we'd travel somewhere all together, and I was never bored. . He had a way of completing my thoughts before I had completed them myself. And yet, at the time, he was with a girl-another blonde-haired, blue eye beauty. But as time went on, I could see by the look in his eyes that he was unhappy. He pretended to be happy on the outside, but those big, brown, expressive eyes told a different story. There was just something about him, something that begged for a closer look. I couldn't help but have a crush on him from the day I met him.

When things with Steve did not go well, I really wanted to talk to him about it. But I also wanted to get to know him better. I called him one night, after school, not expecting him to pick up the phone as I never called him. He answered, and we easily fell into conversation.
"Are you hungry? Would you like some dinner?" were one of the first words out of his mouth. His compassion and caring knocked me off my feet.
And so, our friendship was formed and pretty soon, I found myself calling him every night, spending more and more time with him on the phone. Or I would go to his house and he would make me tea or hot chocolate. And we'd talk about everything. Hours would pass by like minutes.

"Every moment markedwith apparitions of your soul.I'm ever swiftly moving,trying to escape this desire,the yearning to be near you.I do what I have to do.The yearning to be near you.I do what I have to do."

I did everything I could to be near him. Slowly, we became best friends; he'd call me on his way home from work or we'd play games together online. At one point, things with Steve had spiraled out of control, and it was time to move out; he suggested I rent a room from him. Knowing my own desire for him had surpassed what it should, I openly showed little regard for the idea. I knew that if we lived together, my interest in him would only grow and I was afraid of that happening. But he blew down my defenses, and pretty soon, we were living together.

"And I have the sense to recognizethat I don't know how to let you go.I don't know how to let you go."

There was so much about him that was so similar to me that it was scary: we both loved computer games, we both had similar interest and knowledge in computers and how they worked, he was obsessed with Japanese art and architecture just as I was. He loved the same foods, drank similar drinks. What's more, he took care of me. I came home one day or woke up for work (can't recall which) and he had washed, dried, ironed, and hung up all of my clothing for me. He made the best steak on the planet. "Tasty steak" we always called it, was his specialty…

"A glowing ember, burning hot,and burning slow.Deep within, I'm shaken by the violenceof existing for only you."

We got along so well, it scared me. But there were problems. My last boyfriend had been afraid to be in public, and as a result, I had no friends of my own. My friends had been his friends. And when he and I had broken up, I had only one or two friends of my own-but they were married and had little time for me. My world revolved around him. I wanted to get out and go do things with him. But he kept encouraging to find other friends. I felt it was a way of him pushing me away, but in reality, he was merely giving me an opportunity to find myself.

But things aren't always as perfect as they seem. He had his issues, a "newsstand full" he would say. But he was perfect to me. I can honestly say that he made me feel content in a way that I've never felt before or since.

I forward again to the present, and he is sitting in front of me, trying to judge my reaction to his "news."
"I'm really surprised, hon."
"Yeah?" I didn't want him to say anything. I wanted for the news to catch up to me, so I'd have something intelligent to say. But I knew that my heart was taking it all in and drowning slowly.
"I know you've got to be really upset by this, but you're taking this all very well."
"Yeah well…" I choked back the emotion that was threatening to overtake me. "There's nothing I can do now." I said. "I have to support you and be happy for you now."

"I know I can't be with you.I do what I have to do.I know I can't be with you.I do what I have to do."

I did what I had to do-I congratulated him and tried to get to know a little more about his plans for his future life. We talked for a few more minutes, and to be honest, I cannot quite recall what was said. The totality, the weight, of what he had told me was sinking into my brain and my heart and I felt as though any moment I might break down and reveal the truth in my heart. But it had just about been an hour-the longest hour of my life-the hour that turned possibilities and hope into nothing more than the reality that my future was no longer tied to his. In that moment, I realized that a part of me had foolishly held on to the hope that one day we'd work it out-we'd start over, and be the people we used to be. We'd abandon our foolish pride and we'd make it work.

But that is merely the stuff of fairy tales. But still in my heart, there had always been room for him.

"And I have the sense to recognize But I don't know how to let you go.I don't know how to let you go."

My journey must continue onward without him. Gone are the long conversations with my best friend, the games played until the wee hours of the morning, the long walks with our dog. I hve been, in essence, replaced. So many emotions have floated around in my head; part of me felt as though I have failed somehow; I wasn't good enough and that's why he didn't pick me. The other part of me feels as though I had given my best and was wonderful, but never really loved.

I look back and am so grateful for our time together, but I'm also bitter and sad. There was so much in him that I loved. He brought out the best in me. But he also brought out some of the worst. I knew, as I know now, that it was time to move on-time to accept the inevitability of change. The undeniable fact that once again I wasn't what he wanted.

It wasn't supposed to be like this; this wasn't supposed to end up this way. What about me wasn't good enough? How could you turn away from a love as amazing as ours? I can see the look in his eye; he feels the same way. But he's tied to a different future because he made a mistake. But it's too late to go back.

You'd think I'd be able to shrug this all off; but I'm a person. And he was just so amazing to me. He gave me the fairy tale and reality and fit so well in my life that I cannot even begin to describe it. Even now, as I realize that I sound like a love-crazed fool, I remember the good times and realize why we fell in love in the first place.

But I loved him. Love, like so many things in this world, is often a victim, often succumbs to a death formed by our own decisions. Love dies, sometimes fading away like embers and sometimes burning itself out like a flame. And in that hour, that longest hour, I lost the love of my life forever.

My trust issues

I was going to write about something completely different, but let me address something that I have found is really an essential item in any of our lives: trust.
All of my life, I have found it difficult to trust people. That probably stems back from my childhood; when my mom said something, she wouldn't follow through with it. I could never trust her when she treated me well as I was always waiting for her to turn into her other side-the monster that often came out at seemingly random times.
Fast forward to my adult life: trust has become the one thing that I've held onto. Trust is the basic foundation for a good friendship, a good relationship, and a good sense of self. Trust is essential in business negotiations, in partnerships, in When you trust other people, you are more likely to open up to them, more likely to be your real self, more likely to be honest.
Trust is essential in our interpersonal relationships because I feel that if you can't be real with someone, then why have a relationship with them at all? The best friendships, business dealings, etc. are when you can be real and honest with people because they are deeper and therefore more meaningful.
Ultimately, I bring this up because trust is often difficult to build up-trust takes time and consistency.
For example, if you are attempting to build that feeling of trust with someone, there are several factors that you might try to maintain with that person-for example-consistency in your dealings, keeping your word, being honest, etc. Trust, as my friend always says, should be earned, not given.
So when I try to trust someone, I try to see if they're consistent, honest, faithful, true to themselves and others, etc. Then, and only then, I will trust them. Oddly enough, there are only a few people that I really trust. It's always disappointing to find someone that I thought I could trust who betrays me because once trust is broken, it's very difficult to earn back.
I really wanted to take a moment to analyze this: if we do not trust others, then we are closed to them. We do not open ourselves up for the possibility of deeper relationships (or even love) because we won't allow ourselves to reach that level where there might be the possibility of being hurt.
But then I look at the importance of trust. Because it's so difficult to earn, and almost impossible to earn back once lost, I realize that I place a great emphasis in my life on being trustworthy. That is probably why the job I have fits so well with my moral character. I wouldn't say that I'm the best at what I do, but I'm decent because at the very basic level, I'm honest with people.
It reminds me that when I feel people are honest with me, I'm more inclined to listen to what they say. When I'm being sold a product, for example, if I believe they are honest, I begin to build a sort of trust in what they are saying-and pretty soon, I might be more inclined to purchase the product than I would if I thought they were lying.
Even BAD guys understand the importance of trust. Let me tell you something bad that happened to me when I was younger: I was stalked. No matter what I did, no matter what I said, this person continued to like me and continued to do creepy things including following me home, calling my house constantly, putting things in my locker at school, etc. Eventually, I had to get a sort of restraining order and I took a self-defense course. What I learned was really true (if you're interested more in this, you need to read everything you can by the auther Gavin Debecker--brilliant!) ... basically, the bad guys understand us better than we understand ourselves.
They understand that in order to get us to do things we normally wouldn't, we have to trust them. For example, DeBecker uses a real life example in his book "The Gift of Fear." He uses one woman's real life rape story to illustrate how an innate feeling of fear is often our own body's way of giving us a clue that something is wrong. But it also illustrates another point: it shows how a rapist uses his ability to quickly gain a woman's trust in order to rape her. The woman comes home with a bag of groceries, and the man quickly notices her groceries (and notices a can of cat food) and offers to help her with them. He says something along the lines of, "We've got a hungry cat to feed." to make the woman feel comfortable enough to trust the man enough to allow him to help her. Inevitably, he helps her and then rapes her. But my point isn't to point out how disturbing people can be or that you CAN'T trust people (even though I know this is about trust), but my point is simply that even the WORST people understand the importance of trust.
So trust is important to people; it's important to me. The biggest measure of a person in my heart is how much I can trust them. If I tell them things and then suddenly word leaks out, then clearly I cannot trust that person. There are things in my life that are so personal that I've done-mistakes I've made, that I would want to share with someone personally if I choose to. The things I share with people shouldn't be a punch line behind my back or something to talk about.
It's amazing to me that even as adults, many of us still struggle with this. I still struggle with it too. Sometimes, someone tells me something and I just can't believe it. I want to run to that person (not just walk-but RUN) and ask them, "hey, I just heard this... is it true?" but I have to supress my need to "know" and try to evaluate my amount of respect for the person who told me-and my amount of respect for myself. Inevitably, I make mistakes. I open my mouth when I shouldn't. But sometimes, when I am betrayed, I wish that person would have spent a little more time thinking about how it might affect me so that they might just have changed their mind about saying something.
I need to work on my trust issues. I know that having been stalked, having a mom whose behavior changed like the wind, and never really quite uderstanding where I stood, being cheated on, the job I have etc. all made me trust people just a little bit less.
But when I trust less, I also love less. But I am working on being a better person every day. I need to be able to trust, but I also need to believe that OTHER people besides me believe in the importance of being honest and trustworthy in today's times.
One last example before I end this long blog. When my last boyfriend *almost* cheated on me and then lied to me about it, my trust in him was shattered-and I realized something. It wasn't the fact that he had *almost* cheated that really hurt me. It was the fact that he had covered it up and then lied to me about it, even when I had the proof in my hands. THAT was what hurt the most. I had placed my trust in him, and he had so little respect for me that he felt it was okay to lie to me in order to protect himself, even knowing as he did that trust was so important to me. Now, it has inevitably affected the way I am in my relationships-some ways for the better, but some ways, for the worse. I trust less. I ask more questions. I pretend that I don't care, but secretly, I do. Sometimes I am afraid to trust people-because I wonder when the time will come that they will hurt me. But lately, I've realized that you can't hold on to hurts so much or they will completely devour you. Instead, trust in YOURSELF and believe in YOURSELF. Trust the decision you made in the first place-to love someone, to be in a relationship, whatever, and don't question yourself. That's how I think I got stalked originally. I questioned myself. I didn't trust what I was feeling. That's why that woman was raped-she didn't trust that feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her something was wrong.
Ultimately, the greatest trust is the trust you have in yourself. Believe in yourself, the way I, your friend, believe in you. Try to think of how it will make others feel before you talk about them behind their back. Place an emphasis on trust.
What do you think? Is trust important to you? Where do you stand? Has it affected your relationships? Can you offer me some advice?

Excerpt from my book

Okay, so a few of you have requested I put a chapter or two up here on Myspace and I have been really hesitant because ... well because it's so personal. But I found part of the book I feel comfortable sharing with the world. It's a little lighter than a lot of the rest of the book.
CHAPTER TWO -
Currently Untitled

Kindness in words creates confidence. Kindness in thinking creates profoundness. Kindness in giving creates love."
Lao-Tzu



Waking up in the morning was always the most difficult thing for me. I would lay, stretched out comfortable and warm in my bed, and the thought of facing the cold morning air and the rest of the day made me want to roll back over and sleep the day away. But as always, Allen and Jeremy would make sure that I was awake-one way or another. Some days it was merely a rough shake to my shoulder. But once, when I refused to get out of bed because Mom had kept me up so late the night before, they thought themselves clever by holding me down and pouring a cold glass of water on my head. I sprang out of bed, outraged and shocked that I was drenched. The threat of the return of the water treatment as they called it, worked for a few months, but after a while getting out of bed became more and more of a struggle.
There was something about being in bed, snuggling under the warm, thick quilt, that made me feel safer somehow. Sleeping was one of the few activities that made me feel happy, peaceful. There were days when all I wanted to do was to sleep. Being warm and comfortable was one of the only things that I looked forward to. Most days, despite my great reluctance to leave my the warmth of my bed behind, I always made it out of bed in time to watch my sister and brothers leave for school. It was almost as if I was programmed, and no matter what time it was, my body would wake me up no matter how tired I was.
Every morning, as they prepared to leave, I made sure they said goodbye to me as they headed out the door to catch the bus. I would wait in my pajamas, right next to the door if they were in a hurry, with my favorite teddy Bear in hand so that he could get kissed goodbye as well.
One particular Friday morning, the temperature had dipped below freezing the night before, settling a thin, cool white blanket of ice over the ground. It almost looked like snow in a way, the way it covered everything so delicately, so perfectly. It was going to snow sometime soon, I could feel it. My room was extremely chilly and undoubtedly the fire had gone out sometime during the night and would have to be made again in order to heat up the house. Though they were much too big for me, I wore my dads old thermal pajamas that he had given me once, and could still feel the chilly morning air. The pajama arms extended far past my arms and feet and I thought about rolling out of bed, but then I remembered to roll up the legs else I trip and fall on my face-again.
I remember that it was almost light outside, and I had no idea what time it was; I didnt have a clock in my room. Everyone must have been late, because no one had bothered to hurriedly wake me as they always did. The rooms were all empty, and I heard movements downstairs. I quickly grabbed Bear and my big, pink, fluffy slippers and plodded quickly across the upper landing and down the stairs. Amie was making a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and both boys were quickly loading their bags with books.
What are you guys doing? I asked groggily.
Unlike you, we have to go to school, remember? Amie snapped, screwing the peanut butter lid on the jar.
When do I get to go to school? I knew I was whining, but I didnt care.
Later.
But Im smart enough. I insisted, and I was ready to prove it. "I can count all the way to 25. Listen. "1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... 7 ... 8 ... 9"
Will you shut up? Youre being a brat! Go back to sleep. She had finished making the sandwich and was wrapping it with plastic wrap.
I am not!
My brothers, who had so far ignored our conversation, exchanged grinning looks with one another; they were up to something. As they headed past me toward the door, Alan reached out and smacked me hard on the head with his hand. Jeremy snickered.
Owww! I protested.
They were in a hurry to get out the door, and even though I was angry with Alan for hitting me, I didnt want them to leave, not yet.
Goodbye! I waved to them, holding Teddy Bear in front of me. They didnt answer, and most of the time, I didnt expect them to give me one; sometimes they would and sometimes they wouldnt. But I knew that Amie would say goodbye, and then she would kiss me, and then they could go to school. Then I would feel okay if they left.
Dont forget to kiss me goodbye. I waited expectantly by the door.
I dont have time today. Amie walked right past me without even looking in my direction. It was all too much for me to handle.
Please kiss me goodbye! I pleaded from the doorway, watching as they walked across the lawn toward the driveway. The morning air flowed through my pajamas as if they werent even there, and I was reluctant to follow them out into the cold. But despite my plea, they had not returned to say goodbye, so I began to follow them, wandering out in the cool morning air holding Teddy even closer for some warmth.
Alan and Jeremy turned around to look at me and motioned to Amie. They had almost reached the gate that extended around the house. My sleeves became unrolled and now extended past my feet, fighting my slippers as I walked.
It must have been some sight, me walking with my disheveled long hair, Dads thermal pajamas, and Teddy as I scuffed along toward them in my big slippers. The boys pointed and laughed and it was Amie who said, Go back inside the house right now!
Without thinking about the fact that I was getting colder by the second, I proceeded directly outside the house. I wanted to go back in, but they still had not kissed me goodbye. Didnt they realize how much it meant to me? I didnt know exactly myself, why it meant so much to me, it just did. The more I thought about it, the more worried I became about it. They always said goodbye; Amie always kissed her. What would happen if they didnt say goodbye on this one day? I continued on toward them. They were now walking up the driveway and toward the second gate that lined the edge of our property and of my world.
They were making quite a lot of distance, so I started running to try and catch up. My slippers and long legs worked against me, however, and they seemed determined to hinder my getting to them-but I ran on anyway. I forgot how cold it was as I hurried to get to them before they went too far. They had reached the gate, and I was desperate. I had started to cry as the desperation of what I was doing started to sink in to me.
Wait! I shouted. Waiiiitttt! I was out of breath and the cold air made it more difficult to breathe.
This time, they stopped, and looked at my as if they could not believe I had come so far.
You didnt kiss me goodbye! I tried to catch my breath.
Oh Sarah! Amies exasperate voice was also full of concern. She walked over to me, leaned down, and kissed me on the cheek.
Please kiss Teddy too! I held him up expectantly, and Amie gave him a quick kiss too.
Now go back to the house now! Amie instructed. Stop following us. We have to go to school now.
I turned around and realized why they were so surprised to see me. Our farmhouse was quite some distance away. I hadnt realized exactly how far Id gone.
After watching them disappear around the corner, I made my way back, not even caring that I was scuffing my slippers on the big rocks along the way. As I continued walking, it was then that I realized that my fingers had grown extremely numb, as had my toes. When I finally made it back to the house, I was relieved and surveyed the damage. My fingers werent too bad, just a little pink and quite numb. I knew that the fire was rapidly dying but worried that it had gone out completely. Hopefully it had not so that I could just simply put some wood on it and get it going again. I really didnt know how to start a fire, only keep it going.
Fire always scared me, the way it was so unpredictable and hurt if I came to close. Sometimes after I would put wadded newspaper inside to catch an ember, it would catch so quickly that the flames would lick the outside edges of the door, and I would shut it as fast as I could, my heart pounding. Most of the time, I did my best to stay away from the fireplace and only ventured over when no one else was around to put another piece of wood in. I walked over to the aged wood stove, turned the metal handle and pulled open the heavy black door. The logs had been reduced to cinders, but there was still enough to get the fire going again perhaps if I put some kindling and paper on it. I gathered a handful of the foot long, two inch thick cedar pieces and threw them into the stove. I added wadded newspapers from the two foot high stack that sat next to the coffee table. Mom would never miss the newspapers, hopefully wouldnt even notice that they were gone. I watched the wadded paper begin to curl slightly, smoke, and then catch on fire quickly catching the rest of the newspaper and the dry kindling as well. We were almost out of kindling, and I was thankful. One less weapon. I put the sticks in one by one and watched as they caught fire, hoping that one of them had been used as my punishment. Good, it was gone now. As quickly as I dared, I put a log on top of the kindling and shut the stove, opening the vent to make sure the fire could breathe. There. The fire was made so the house would be warm and Mom would have no reason to get up early. I had been kissed goodbye. The day was going to be all right.

My Dad

I am really glad that I can talk to my friends on Myspace whom I wouldn't normally be able to speak with.
I was looking through some of the things that I have written (still working on my novel of course) and I found this partial chapter about my dad. It is still in progress because it made me cry when I wrote it a little over a year ago. The saddest thing EVER happened to me when I returned hom this June for my reunion.
My sister and I have not been close for years-the subject of which many know and I will not cover that today. But I really got the unique opportunity to see the graceful young lady she has become and I couldn't be more proud of her journey and progress.
We were all sitting around the dinner table, celebrating my mother's 56th or oh no-is it 58th? Ack! Anyways, and somehow we started talking about my Dad. Shauna has always felt that Dad loved me more than her-but she's wrong. Dad loves himself the most. And it took that trip home to really realize that.
As Shauna was talking about her struggles with him, she burst into tears, real tears of sorrow and regret. What kind of father would leave his two children behind to be tortured and abused? What kind of father would sit back and allow his babies to grow up without him? When I saw her crying, I realized in that moment, how much I love Shauna and am so glad that she's my sister. Dad really missed out on being a part of her life. Of course, he missed out on being a part of my life, but I got to know him for 9 years and she only got to know him for 4. 4 years. Three she probably doesn't even remember. That means, there was one year when Dad was the guy she hugged and called "Daddy." That was the ONE year when her life was complete.
And when she cried in June, I realized that this whole time, she has been haunted by a memory that will not let her rest. Her vision of her father for that one year met the reality of the person he truly is-and they are not the same. The part of our hearts that wants to believe the best in people probably made her think that Dad was simply a guy trying to save himself in some strange twisted sort of way. Perhaps she even thought that he considered his leaving as a sort of "gift" so that his absence might lessen her anger. But Dad was selfish. Perhaps had he stayed around a bit longer, he would have been the Dad Shauna wanted him to be.
I realized that I really wished, for just a moment, that Shauna could have seen the man I saw when I looked at him and truly, wished that he could see the people in us that he left behind.
Her tears merely reflected her broken heart and my failure to see that she has been hurting all this time. This part of my book (below) is part of the last day my dad was really in my life. I have forgiven him for being selfish, for being a poor father, and for not believing in himself. But I don't think I can forgive the fact that he was not in Shauna's life. She deserved better than that. She is a beautiful young lady, and he should be so proud of her.
Anyways, here's the excerpt. Perhaps you can see the qualities in him as I do. Perhaps it is just the part of me that would believe he's truly a good person.


The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone. ~George Elliot
1.
A man does not always choose what his guardian angel intends."- Thomas Aquinas
1.



I woke up that morning with a start. Dad had not woken me up like he usually had. Something was wrong when our Saturday morning routine was disturbed. I rubbed my eyes, and settled back down into my blankets convinced that he had slept in or there was some other good reason that he was not leaving. Sleep had almost found me once again when I heard the slam of the screen door below, a few mumbled words, and the chinking sound of something being loaded onto the truck. I was out of my bed in a flash, grabbed my big pink bunny slippers, and plodded down the stairs as quickly as possible. Maybe if I told him to wait, he'd give me a few minutes to get dressed and then we could go.
For a few moments, I considered the fact that they had fought again, and Dad was going to quietly slip away to stew about it in peace. I strained to remember if there had been any noise coming from downstairs last night, but I couldn't remember hearing any. Something was strange about the morning, something not quite right.
I padded to the edge of the porch and watched as Dad stared at the back of his truck. He was muttering under his breath and appeared to be looking for something, taking no notice of me watching him. Still not completely awake, it took me a moment to realize with a sinking feeling that he was loading several things into the back of his truck. At first, I was sure that he was going into the woods, but then I noticed that he was loading other things as well. As soon as I saw an old blue suitcase go into the truck, I realized what he was going to do.
At first, I was hopeful; I ran out to the truck and asked him if he needed any help. I was more than ready to leave that place and never come back-ever. Of course he was going to take us, his angels, with him. He stopped, surprised to see me, and almost seemed to pretend I wasn't there. "Dad?"
He continued to load his stuff into the truck and finally leaned down, gave me a hug and said, "I'm sorry punkin, I can't take any more of this ... any more of her."
"I know." was all I could manage. With that hug came the realization that he was not going to take me with him. Was he going to pack up his big green truck and leave without me, taking my whole world with him? My beloved doggie Sammie was sitting anxiously in the front seat as if he couldn't wait for whatever adventure lay ahead. He was going to take the dog but not me?
"Why can't I go with you?" I begged.
"Where I am going, I can't take you with me."
"Please Daddy. I don't care about money." He continued to load things into the truck. The sound of the tailgate closing, the crunch of footsteps on gravel ....
He walked away and into the house and I dared my tears not to come. I had hoped against hope that perhaps by the time he had loaded everything up he would change his mind; he would come back inside the house and I would wake up from this dream. Maybe he wasn't really leaving. But a few minutes passed by, and he returned carrying his lunch box under one arm. Without a word, he put it on the front seat, like he always did when he was leaving for work. But this time, I knew he wasn't going to come back. I didn't care about the tears anymore. I let them come, let them slide down my cheeks in torrents until my breaths turned to sobs.
He got the truck started, after a few failed attempts, and I could not stop sobbing. He was going to leave, and he wasn't even going to say goodbye. When he made another trip into the house, engine still running, front driver side door open, I hopped up into the cab-resolute that if he only let me go with him, everything would be all right.
Moments later, he reemerged with something, and I slunk down low in the seat so that he might not see me. But he found me right away, perhaps because he already knew what I was thinking.
He lifted me, sobbing, still in my nightgown and pink bunny slippers, from the truck. For the first time, I noticed that he had tears in his eyes. This was it. He leaned over and rustled my hair and said in a high-pitched sad voice that I had never heard before, "I have to go. I am going to take Sam with me. I wanted to say goodbye to your sister but ..." he looked sadly toward the house, then back at me again. "You take real good care of your sister for me, until I can see you both again. Be strong for me." And then he hugged me tightly, more tightly than ever. The hug was so tight it hurt, but I couldn't let him go. I just didn't want to end that hug, as if ending that hug meant losing something great and wonderful forever-as if it meant somehow that I was losing my whole family in just one day. He hopped into his truck, pet Sam who was bouncing up and down with excitement, and shut the truck door. I was so choked up with emotion, I was unable to muster up words or scream at him to stay before he began driving slowly away.
"Wait!" But my words were lost against the roar of the truck and the sound it made on the gravel.
"Don't go, Daddy! Please don't go!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "Please, come back! COME BACKKKKK." But it was too late. I watched as his truck disappeared up the driveway and out of sight.


The strangest thing about Dad leaving was the absence of his presence in the house. I never saw him much, but it was as if the whole house felt cold and empty the moment he was no longer there. Just knowing that he was there had always been a comfort to me; without his presence I knew that there would be no one there to protect me. I would have to rely completely on my faith in God and hope that He was looking out for me. That first day was the hardest day I'd ever had to experience. Seconds passed like an eternity as I sat at the table in the kitchen waiting for him to change his mind and come back. I could just make out the end of the driveway through the kitchen window and I remember watching, waiting for the cloud of dust and the roar of his truck. Minutes passed in agony as I waited, sitting there at the kitchen table, feeling all alone. No one was up; the ticking of the clock was a constant reminder of the emptiness that had filled the room in Dad's absence. My hope that he would come back slowly faded into a panic that erupted into another rush of tears that fell from my cheeks and onto the table. Why would Daddy leave when I needed him most? What I needed most was for him to wrap his arms around me and tell me that everything was going to be all right; he was my protection from Her. He made everything all right. Without him around, who was going to protect me? Shauna was loved by everyone, but I knew that I would have no one to save me from Her wrath. Suddenly a weariness washed over me and I felt weak. My energy was gone.

I think Mom knew he was leaving. It was the strangest day of my life, and yet the house was oddly quiet. It was the first time I really wanted someone to be up early. I didn't want to wait until her usual noon waking routine or her morning cigarette and coffee. Worse, I wanted everything just to go back to the way it had been before. Even if Daddy was miserable, he was still there.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, as hope began to slide slowly away, my head began to play games with me. Perhaps, I told myself, he would start to drive past the woods and would change his mind; he would make it to the end of our Melling road and would come back; he just had to. How could he leave us, his angels, behind? If he didn't come back at the end of the day, surely it would only be a couple of days until he returned for us, just a couple of days …

Boysenberry Togetherness

I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich having gotten back from the "club" at a little after 1:00 a.m. this morning. The reggae band was pretty awesome, and the grooviness of the music made me want to close my eyes and pretend I was in Jamaica rather than downtown Newport Beach.
So as I was spreading the jelly on the bread, I was reminded that he liked boysenberry jam-just like me; it was both our favorites. It was little things like this that make me think of the time when I was happiest. It was crazy like that, the way we liked the same random things. we had so much in common, him and I.
But the other day he called me and reminded me that he now is "in a different place in his life" as if justifying why he would find the need to be with "new girl" rather than me.
We had so much to talk about, we'd talk for hours. I didn't think it was possible that a person (especially a guy) would have so much to say. He liked boysenberry syrup and loved breakfast as much as I do. He liked my artistic talents and I loved his ninjitsu training skills; he always promised to teach me-but I was a poor student.
He made me tea just the way I liked it, and would make me dinner "just because."
But he's with someone else now, and I am not as bitter about it as I thought I'd be. I have finally accepted it and am ready to move on. Perhaps the next guy will like all of the things that he didn't. Perhaps my new guy will want to cuddle with me, want to take vacations and explore the world, will want to really live.
I realized that the boysenberry is really a combination of three berries-the raspberry, loganberry, and blackberry. They took three very good berries and combined them to make what I consider to be the best berry. And I guess that's what it is that makes a good relationship.
Instead of looking at my past as yet another time of broken hearts and dreams, I think that J is like one of the berries-one of the experiences I needed in my life to combine together to make me who I am. And me, the new and improved Sarah who has learned from her mistakes, will go forward and take what she's learned-the good and the bad-and will use it to better her next relationship.
Old relationships are merely the fruits of labor that combine to make you into the wonderful person that you are. Instead of hurting you, they help to form you and make you stronger, better.
There was once a time when I regretted meeting J, but now I am glad because it taught me to be a better person, and to look for better people than myself. It's important to look for people who lift you up, challenge you, and make you into a better person. After all, you owe it to yourself to be the best berry you can be, right?

The Importance of Keeping One's Word

I recently watched a movie called, "The Promise". So many little truths and realizations jumped out at me that I thought I would share some of them. In the movie, there wasnt just one promise made, there were many. And as the movie progressed, I realized that there are often consequences to not keeping ones word. The damage doesnt just occur to oneself but also to the people who suffer loss from the broken word or promise. If someone promises something and does not follow through, then the individual who was counting on and put their faith in that persons word learns mistrust. That lack of trust may extend beyond the person who broke the promise towards others as well. Following this logic, the health and structure of a society could be affected. Therefore, the lack of integrity is a double-edged sword. It cuts both the giver and the receiver. The giver of the promise will no longer be trusted and can no longer trade or work with the betrayed based on the strength of that persons word. Both parties have lost. If the ripples of betrayal extend beyond the two people, many people can be affected. In the case of a personal relationship, the cost of a broken word is more than just the loss of trust, it includes the inflicting of deep hurt on the person who was mislead. For example, the vows of marriage are supposed to be sacred. The personal and emotional cost for breaking them can be devastating for both parties. If there are others involved, such as children, it can wreak havoc on them as well. Their lives will be disrupted by the break up of the family or at the very least the ensuing cloud of mistrust that exists between the leaders of the household. In business, a persons word has to be good. If you cannot keep true to your word, you cannot be trusted and when that happens, how can you continue to conduct commerce? Credit lines will be cut and personal contacts, which are so valuable in the business world, can be lost. Integrity is important at every level and in every aspect of society. Without integrity the very fabric of a system, unit or society can begin to crumble. Without integrity, what is a human being? A person loses everything through lack of integrity. He loses even respect for himself in the end. When the truth of it dawns on him, he may even begin to believe himself to be worthless. The solution is to cultivate integrity. Strive to be a good and truthful person. In fact, integrity is something that has been taught throughout history. It is hinted at everywhere, when you tune into it. Even in modern times the founder of a meditation practice called Falun Dafa, teaches Truthfulness, Compassion and Tolerance. He must think integrity is important. In fact, one can find the idea and importance of integrity emphasized in many religious teachings throughout every age of man. Dont the noblest of people hold the idea of integrity as dear? Integrity is more than just an idea. It is a practical and necessary character trait in order to have any lasting success in this world. True, some can achieve success through a serious lack of integrity, morals and ethics. However, it is like a house built on shifting sand, bound to fall sooner or later. And if the fall or payment for lack of integrity doesnt happen in this life, perhaps the payment manifests in a bad way in the next life. Whether you believe in reincarnation or in going to heaven upon death, or that you transcend and survive death in any way shape or form, it seems that it would be hardly worth rejecting integrity in the present. Even for a person who believes that nothing happens upon death, that life simply ends, the practical aspects of integrity in everyday life are evident. There are rewards in business and personal relationships for acting with integrity, loss of status and pain await those who overlook this virtue. Wouldnt it be a good idea to cultivate integrity in our daily lives and actions right now? If we each work on our personal integrity as individuals, we can collectively begin to build a better world and a better society for our children and ourselves. Isnt that worth striving for? David Snape writes for All Things Pondered: http://allthingspondered.com He also writes for http://tobeinformed.com - To Be Informed!

I Don't Want ... (To Have To Say Goodbye)

I did one of the most difficult things yesterday: I had to say goodbye to someone who was close to my heart. It was a difficult decision, but the truth of it all is, I didn't want to have to say goodbye. But God has his hand in everything, and my heart is finally beginning to heal.
When we decide to be friends with someone, I think sometimes we put up with more than we would or should with just a normal person. Somehow, they find there way into your heart and you just find yourself not wanting to let go. I kept telling myself, even when it was bad between us, that things would only get better. I thought that once this person saw what a good heart I had, perhaps they would realize how important it was to be nice to me. I don't ask for much, really. Just be a good person; be nice to me.
But in the end, I realized something. If I was valuable to this person, I wouldn't have to wonder why they never followed through with their word. I realized that when there's a friend in my life whom I value, I always do what I say. At first, I thought that perhaps I was the exception, and not the rule. Perhaps it truly is a "California Thing" to flake on people and tread on their hearts with the bottom of your shoes. Perhaps I am different having come from another state. I thought that, until that is, I flaked on a couple of people who I really care about. Suddenly, my heart did flip flops! I actually felt badly! Then I decided it's important to do what you say; it's important to be nice to people and follow through. Integrity. Morality. Character.
I wish that things could have been different between us. I would apologize for so many things I have done or said that I know were hurtful. I would take it all back at the chance to have a good friendship with this person. But it takes two. It takes two people to work on the friendship in order to make it work.
A friend of mine asked me exactly what it was that this person was giving me, and I couldn't think of anything. I went out of my way to drive to see this person, I went out of my way to help this person, and I went out of my way to spend time with this person. But when I told them about the situation with my mom, they said, "I don't know what to tell you." And when I asked for help, that person said, "When I have time." And then, worst of all, when I asked that person to follow through with what they said, they said, "I only told you that I would MAYBE spend time with you."
Obviously, if I am only good enough to get the MAYBE, then I am clearly not making a difference in this person's life. I told them that I needed a break, and there was no "wait, don't go." No, "Hey, you mean a lot to me," or "hey, I'll make it up to you." My message was met with silence.
Silence seems to fill up the distance between us. Nothing but silence.
So here I am, looking back at all that has happened. I look back at all that I have given. I gave openly because my heart was open. I gave willingly because my heart was willing. I gave, because I hoped that this person would one day give back. But, in the end, it's true that we only see what we want to see. They are too busy chasing elusive doves to bother with one girl who merely tried to be a good friend.
I feel bad. I wish there was something I could do. But I can't possibly give any more. It takes two. Everyone keeps telling me that. But it's so difficult for me to have to say goodbye-I don't want to have to give up on a friendship-especially one where I gave so much.
But a friend has made a good point. He said, "I'll bet this person doesn't even know your favorite color or what makes you happiest... I'll bet he interrupts you when you try to let him in to your heart and show him who you really are."
He's so right and perhaps I have been wrong to try. But I keep praying that one day this person will want to be my friend and will actually make some effort to be in my life instead of the other way around.
My friend also said, "Everyone loves a giver. They love to take and take and take. Maybe it's time you stop giving so much and see who it is that actually WANTS to be a part of your life."

When I Was In Love

About two or three years ago, I fell in love with who I thought was amazing man. While the end of this is sad, I wrote this while I was in love. Reading it again, I can almost remember that feeling of being in love ... and I can't wait for it to happen again (minus the hurting part that is!) *grin*
Its not easy-in that cornered moment of your life when you realize that the reason you cant breathe lately is because youre in love.
I practiced saying it over and over again in my head, Im in love as if bewitched by some magical wonderment not meant for me-meant only for those with some secret quality, some unknown quantative measurement that I do not possess. But after the surprise of uttering the words goes away, I realize that it is fitting for me.
I rush down the crowded street that, only weeks before, had me moaning and complaining about the people. Too many people. But today was different; let the people be there. Let them laugh and talk and get their coffees and rush off to work, and let them brush rudely by me on their way to some unknown destination, because I am in LOVE!
He makes me pancakes on the weekends, and smiles at me and laughs at my surprise that someone would do something that nice for me. He just keeps mixing the batter, round and round, and I watch with breathless anticipation. This is what its like, falling in love with your best friend.
Only problem is, I am afraid it wont last. Afraid that tomorrow when I wake up, this world of make believe will melt away leaving me les than I was yesterday. But oh this feeling. Maybe he will find a way to hurt me, find a way to take this most vulnerable moment that I am having and throw it in my face and grin at his daring, or simply take his leave without a word of explanation or goodbye. But it is all worth it somehow.
I am lost in thought on the edge of his bed, and he can sense tension in the air. He knows just what to say and asks me whats wrong. I want to tell him that this is so amazing I want to stop it right now, stop it before I get hurt-but the words lose themselves in my head before I can even begin to say them. A part of me, the stronger and more logical side, tells myself that its all right. Its time to let go-let go of all the fears, all the worries, just like when you first learn to swim. You have to relax, and just remember that you can float on the water as long as you dont panic. Just close your eyes, and float.
All day long, every day, I feel as though I am floating. I see him moody and angry, and I realize that he is not perfect, except to me. His darker side, his arrogance that he knows everything about everything, only adds to his boyish charm. He has an opinion about everything, and cares little about mine. But oh, I am in love.
One day, he comes home and for the first time since I have known him, he closes his door to me. He refuses to open up and I can sense that there is something wrong. My first thought is that I have somehow offended him-somehow done some horrific act to make his angry. And yet, in my heart I can only see good intentions.
When he finally opens his door to me, I am confused, and hopeful that having known him as I do, he will be patient with me and explain to me what has upset him so. If it was my fault, then I will fix it and move on. But I can see the anger in his eyes and know its directed toward me.
Before long, he is yelling at me for the first time ever. And months pass by and he is yelling at me, calling me names, hurting me in a way that would not be believeable for someone who feels the way I do. And so, both he and time begin to slip away, word by word, day by day.
If there could have been one picture on my wall the wrong direction, some feng shui I could have done to make myself understand his change in heart, I would have done so in a heartbeat if only to grasp the heart of the situation. As he would grow angry with me, annoyed by the simplest of gestures like a hug, I would say to myself over and over again, I love you. I love you. And yet the pain that I felt in his non-responsiveness was like a paper cut to my heart.
Nothing I said mattered, nothing I did mattered, and slowly my magical world began to come crashing down on me. Perhaps it is then that I found the letter. When I first saw it, I was afraid to look at it-afraid of what I might find. Afraid that if I were to see the real reason, I would not be as strong as I needed to be. But I knew that the words on those pages were the answers I so desperately sought.
It took a long time to read it. At first I put it under my pillow, so that when I calmed down I would simply take a peek. Shaking from the thought of breaking someones privacy and discovering the truth, I attempted to hold my hand steady. I felt as though I was cold and yet hot and yet there were no words to describe it.
After an hour or so, the realization hit me that I was in love. That feeling that I had so joyously coveted would allow me to read the letter and having nothing bad befall me. I only wanted to know the truth, and if for nothing else, my heart needed to know.
It took me twice through to understand what I was reading, as the tears were falling down my cheeks before I could stop them, all but blinding my vision. I wiped them away, but more replaced them-as I settled into the shock of what I had discovered.
It was a beautiful letter, and as articulate as only he could be. Of course, it wasnt written to me-but to someone in his quiet, whispered past. Someone who had apparently fluttered into his heart like a butterfly, and then never left him. I remembered that he had talked about her, someone he had dated years before, someone who lived far away. This could not be happening, I kept telling myself. But the truth of when he had signed the letter, the date, stamped itself into my memory.
The whole time he had spent with me, he had spent thinking about her. I was the stand-in, walking in the footsteps of someone elses shadow, and falling in love with someone whose heart was already taken.