The end came and went. And of course. I’m devastated. I haven’t heard from the man who was my closest friend for many months of the most intense time of my life. Just like that, no communication, no friendship, no nothing. My kids talk about him because we all often played together. They don’t know what happened. They don’t miss him or ask when he’s coming back. But they have lost here too.
My stomach hurts when I think about it, about quiet shared moments, about friendship, and the potential road that could have lay ahead, if it had been permitted. And now, it has just fallen off the cliff. There is no future. No summer days or cookouts–no little road trips or funny shared moments. I won’t get to know his little girl anymore who was quirky and silly and kind and deep and strange. She loved dancing. She was phenomenally active, a sharp bright mind, quick to anger, quick to forgive. A darling little girl.
She liked me. I cared for her very much.
All these relationships just cut short. I cannot understand that. A bomb dropped so that they all blew up, desperately careful though I was to protect little hearts, and my own.
Many have said to me that there will be no closure. No neat and tidy little package to place in my closet. There’s just a mess strewn out all over my mind and heart and body. And I can’t tidy it up. Nothing to say oh, that’s why that happened, or here’s where that goes. Which was all I was seeking when the communication stopped completely.
Life is unfair.
Two loves lost.
Karen Maezen Miller said she wishes she could protect every tender heart. But then, they wouldn’t be tender anymore. Though my pain is deep, bottomless, profound, I have not lost my tenderness. One thing can be certain. I never will. And maybe some day, someone will come along who wants and deserves it.
The end of this is the beginning of something else. I don’t know what that is. But one thing is for sure. I’m in it. Both the end, and the beginning.