Tag Archives: loss

Good Memories of 2011, Day 4: Witchcraft & Prose

This is my final “good memory” from last year, and I’m going to tell you about the two women who dominated my time and attention, who touched me and thrilled me and inspired me, who gave me delight with their presence, then despair at their loss.

I’m going to call them Witchcraft and Prose. My relationship with one is no secret, but what I shared with the other is, and I like the poetry in these noms de cœur. I’m not going to say much about them, but I can’t write about my good memories of last year without writing about them, because they were responsible for most of them.

◊

Witchcraft may well have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.

Her hair is a wild mane of copper and fire.

She moves in the world with confidence and strength, but has a fragility about her, a softness and wariness betrayed in the shyness of her smile.

As 2011 began, we were falling in love, and when we committed to each other, I was happier than I’d been for many years.

She’s a very smart, very wise woman. We shared a worldview, spiritually and politically, and a passionate, physical romanticism. We played. We laughed. We shared our darknesses.

We were forever. But not really.

I won’t go into our downfall. I’ve done that before. It may have been that we were simply, ultimately, unsuited for each other. It may have been that we came together at a bad time. I certainly was having a rough time, and reacted to the stages of our collapse in ways I regret, ways that hurt her. I failed her, and I failed myself.

I have tried to salve the wounds. Apparently they are too deep. And so, she is not in my life, and my life is the poorer. We were lovers, but more than that, we were friends, and I wish that was still so.

◊

Prose is a beautiful, dark-haired woman with beautiful, dark eyes and a ready smile. She’s trim and athletic, and sultry in a teasing, playful way that can turn instantly to smoldering intensity. I loved being the focus of her gaze. I loved gazing upon her. I loved her carnality.

I loved thinking of showering with her in waterfalls, out in the wilds, just her, just me…

I’m calling her Prose because she’s a professional writer. She’s gifted, and the tales she spins mix deep emotion with a wry sense of human fallibility.

She is funny and smart as hell, and the many hours we spent in each other’s company were filled with repartee and laughter. I can honestly say that I have met few people in my life who I just simply like as much as I like her. Our relationship lasted about three months, and she became one of the best friends I’ve ever had.

We spent a lot of time together.

Unfortunately, she had to end things. She was married, in a separation of sorts brought on by the deadening of passion, the dissipation of shared interests, which kills so many marriages. But she has kids. She opted to return to the hard work of trying to reel in the widening gyre, of getting the centre to hold, of making her marriage work.

There was no place for me, or what we shared, in that life. So she drew away. And I gave her my blessing. I spent years working a lifeless marriage myself, for my son’s sake, so I’ve been there. And I want her to be happy, so if making her marriage work again is what she wants, I hope it works out for her. I hope she finds happiness.

I’m rooting for her.

◊

I miss Witchcraft and Prose, and I have regrets. But I don’t regret what I shared with either of them. I’m better for having known them. I will always be here for them, even if it’s just as a loving friend. Even if it’s just as a memory. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for either of them.

Melancholia & Lost Friends

I’ve been spending the evening working on the final installment of my “Good Memories of 2011,” this one focusing on my relationships with two remarkable women I’m unable to spend time with now. One no longer wants to associate with me, the other can’t. I miss them both terribly, and trying to say all the things I want to say, elegantly and briefly, is proving difficult and making me sad.

But I’m oh so glad I got to know them.

Electroshocked

I am most of the way through my course of electroshock, and my worst fears about its effects haven’t materialized. I’ve noticed no holes in my memory, no inability to write, no problems spelling. And I am, now, starting to feel better, I think.

If anything, I’m thinking more clearly, and certainly more positively. Though that’s admittedly hard, what with Kate’s breaking up with me. I’m still in an emotional gutter, prone to tears and bleak moods, and it’s going to be a long time before I heal from the loss of her. But I’m pretty sure I’d be a good deal worse off had I not undertaken the ECT; for the first time since Kate dumped me, I’m actually experiencing some positive emotions.

The worst part of the whole experience has been the IVs, as I’m not a huge fan of needles.

Kate’s presence in my life allowed me to feel love again, and to remember what happiness was actually like, for the first time in a very long time. Losing that was crushing, and a shame; I think we had something wonderful, and she let it go far too easily. But that’s on her, not me. (I had my own failures in how I dealt with losing her, and I’m not proud of that). Since I do love her, and do want her to be happy, I can only hope she can find a relationship that doesn’t challenge her so much she feels compelled to flee…but it’s out of my hands now, alas.

And I…well clearly I need to re-enter the world and make myself available, hopefully to find someone local to me who’s willing to work at a relationship. Hell, there are what, two or three million people in Atlanta? Surely I don’t have to cast my net as far as Pennsylvania to find someone to love. Even if that person is wonderful…and she is. But maybe I’m not. Guess maybe I should work on that.

Anyway, for those who’ve been worried at my decision to ride the lightning, don’t be. Far as I can tell, its effects are benign, and I’m better off than I would have been had I not done it.

A Public Apology

Lately, I was an asshole.

Losing Kate broke me, and I fell into a vortex of loss and anguish and anger…and while in that state, I was mean to her. There is no justification for my behavior, and I want to own up to it and apologize to her for it in the eyes of the world.

Kate, my love…I’m sorry. You did nothing to justify such lousy behavior on my part, and it will not happen again.

The State of the Heart

Just a quick update for the concerned…

Kate and I have reestablished contact, at least a little bit, hopefully leading to more. As I care dearly for her, it’s very much my hope we can at least return to being very good friends; my world is a lovelier place with her in it. I’ve missed her terribly.

My heart still breaks to think of what might have been…I think we could have been a great couple. I know, had we the will, we could have been together. But as of this weekend, not only is she not moving here to be with me, she’s moving even farther away. Perhaps I simply fucked things up, perhaps there was never a chance we’d do what it required to be together. I fear the former.

At the very least, I think we had our asses kicked by distance, and that’s a shame. It certainly makes me all the more adamant about not getting into long distance relationships…but it also makes me wonder if I should bother with relationships at all. Two decades of loneliness seems to have settled atop me like geological layers of stone and I just seem to flounder and fuck up when I try to dig through to sunlight. I want it too much, I try too hard, I worry too much about losing…and I lose.

Kate was the best thing to happen to me since my son was born, and I blew it.

“Valediction” (A Poem)

I release her, though I love her still.
We are not lovers, though we were, and nicely.
We are not friends (epic true or otherwise), though we were, with delight.

To be free, she must build walls, it seems. Some people must.
To be free, she must ravage love, burn its bones.
Salt earth with its tears.
Make sure no part lives, nothing more will grow.

Ok.

Though I love her still, I release her.

Goodbye, Kate.

Taken By The Wind (A Personal History, Part 4): The Sound of Her Wings

Death is always with me.

I think I first met her Christmas Eve, 1965. I was still a season short of two years old, living in Missouri with my mom who had fled back to her parents’ home to escape my father’s jealousy and rage. My mom’s name was Linda, and she was 16.

She was working that night, I think waitressing or as a cashier…it’s been decades since I heard the story, and have no one to ask now. But I do think she was working in a restaurant of some sort. And she took a ride home with a coworker. Home to spend Christmas with her family. With her baby. With me.

She never got there. Another driver–I think it was a woman–slammed into the car and my mom was ripped from my life forever.

I don’t remember her. I vaguely recall photos of her, but have none, as they’re in my father’s possession and I’m years out of contact with him. She was a cute young Italian girl with a nice smile and lots of long dark hair.

For most of my youth, I didn’t realize the impact her death had on me, except for the fact it put me in the path of a couple of incredibly damaging step-monsters, and left me in the hands of my mean-ass drunken father.

But as far back as I can recall, my greatest fear has been the loss of a loved one. Continue reading →