Help for Healing

Bitter & Sweet, living daily with grief


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Preaching to the Choir

My dad moved into assisted living this week. I burned the candle at both ends for a couple of weeks, but he applied, got accepted and moved in rather quickly. On move in day, we had finished all the paperwork but the moving truck hadn’t arrived so we decided to go shopping for some items he needed for his new apartment.

I do not generally enjoy shopping, but this was actually kind of fun. I felt like a mom with a kid going off to college that needed to furnish his dorm room. We went in with a list. The windows are all new and sometimes people don’t even use curtains anymore but Dad is old school. He had the curtains already, but he needed new curtain rods.

We went to the appropriate aisle and I was prepared with the measurements from the maintenance man. There are so many options for curtain rods now. Dad? Well, he wanted those plain white metal ones that bend in an “L” at the end. I did my best to try to change his mind. “Dad, there are so many cute ones. How about this one?  Or this kind? Or this? They aren’t that much more expensive.” Nope. The curtains cover these rods anyway so what does it matter? “Jeeze, Dad. You’re no fun. I can’t believe you are picking the boring ones.” There was an older lady, probably close to Dad’s age in the same aisle. I heard her snicker a bit at our conversation.

We moved on to the next item on the list. We happened to bump into that same woman. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she followed us. She walks up to me, puts her hand on my arm and says ever so firmly, “Now young lady, you know that your opinion doesn’t matter one bit. After all, it is HIS house and he should pick out what he wants.”

I was a bit taken aback, but I thought she was really going to be embarrassed when I pulled those old, ugly white curtain rods out of my cart and showed her that he indeed makes his own decisions. I said that he always calls the shot but I like to rib him a little. It’s what we do.

She was having none of it. She went on to say that, “Someday, YOU will be a senior citizen too and THEN you will understand things.” Her disgust of me was crystal clear. My mind was racing. Me? The one who tends to my dad’s every need? Surely she should know that my sister and I both worked in nursing homes. There was no McDonald’s jobs. We took care of the elderly. Surely she should know that when I lived in Chicago I set up an “Adopt a Grandparent” program for those elderly folks that had no family. I have a lifetime of being respectful to senior citizens.

Her final parting shot (as if the first two weren’t enough) was, “My goodness. Your father and I were certainly raised very differently than your generation was.”

Huh.

She couldn’t have been more wrong about me. It got me thinking though. Jay pointed out to me that people like us go to all the trouble in our heads (or out loud) to defend ourselves when really we don’t owe anyone an explanation. But we even if there is no one to hear, we have to justify ourselves to ourselves. Crazy.

I also wondered how many times I have heard a snippet of our conversation and thought that I had accurately surmised the dynamics with all of my expertise and experience. What the hell do I actually know anyway? I can be pretty accurate with my intuition, but it’s nowhere near 100%. I will try to keep that in mind the next time I have an urge to confront a total stranger (or a beloved person for that matter).

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Exceptional

I’ve noticed that people fit into categories. Take waiters, for instance.

There are those who don’t do their job. They goof up your order. Your food is cold. Maybe they charge you the wrong amount.

There are those who just do their job, the minimum amount. When I go to Denny’s and ask for a cappuccino, they say, “We only have iced, no hot.” Fair enough. Hot is not on their menu.

Then there is Sharon. She is Summer’s and my favorite waitress at Denny’s. We ask to be in her section. When I ask Sharon for a cappuccino, she says,”We only have iced, but why don’t I put a cup in the microwave for you?” Now that is exceptional service. She isn’t required to go the extra mile, but she suggests it and then she does it. Summer and I always make sure we tell her how much we appreciate her. We both have lives that involve taking care of others. We love going to Denny’s for an hour and having Sharon take care of us. It means the world to us.

People are like that in general. There are those who just aren’t around when you need them. You don’t even ask because you know they aren’t going to say yes. Maybe it isn’t their “job” or maybe it is, but it doesn’t matter. They aren’t going to.

There are those who help, but only if it is convenient for them. “Sure, I can do that because I don’t have anything else going on.” Sometimes this is the hardest group of people to deal with. It’s not like they never do anything, so they can easily defend themselves. Often times, these are the people who say, “All you have to do is ask. Any time, day or night. I’m here for you.” And they believe that it’s true. Often, there is little insight into their own behavior. Self-awareness is not one of their fortes. You are grateful for what they offer, but you know there are great limitations to what they will do.

Then there are those exceptional Sharons in the world. They are the ones that actually sacrifice. Sacrifice. Give something up for someone else. I’ve come across a few exceptionals lately.

One is Dad’s urologist. I asked her for her phone number so I could reach her any time of day or night. She gave it to me immediately. I’ve had to text her a number of times with all of his emergencies. She responds every time.

Monday was Labor Day. Dad was out of a medical supply that I frantically tried over two and a half hoursto find. It was beyond ridiculous. His doc and I texted several times. I traced lead after lead after lead just hitting brick walls thanks to medical bureaucracy, which generally has no common sense whatsoever. Eventually, I came across Eric’s name, the district manager. He said he lived in Syracuse and wondered if I could meet him half way. Syracuse is over two hours away. I could do it because I was desperate. But then Dad’s is another 45 minutes away.

Eric called back and said that no way was he asking me to drive on a holiday. He drove over two hours to arrive directly at Dad’s apartment with plenty of medical supplies. Then he apologized to me for having to call several times to find the right place. Are you kidding me? I couldn’t believe he did that for us. I don’t care if it was his company’s fault that Dad had run out. That man didn’t have to do that. It was a holiday for him too. I couldn’t even explain to him that I could care less that it was a holiday. But I was truthfully overwhelmed with the last five days with Dad’s enormous medical responsibilities. I had spent hours and hours every single day to care for him, canceling work, etc.. I could have cried for joy when he said he would take care of it. Total stranger. Eric, you rock!

The next day, the nurse from the doc’s office called. I had put a call in earlier because Dad was also out of his medication samples and needed a script. She called me back to inform me that he needed authorization from insurance and it would take several days. She said she would bring me samples. Where could I meet her? She chose a diner between our houses and I met her there. I asked if I could buy her breakfast. She said she would eat with me but that I wasn’t going to buy. She handed me 12 bottles of samples. I absolutely insisted I buy breakfast. Almost total stranger. Amy, you rock.

We all have legitimate bitches and complaints about the world we live in, and the people who occupy that world with us. But I don’t ever want to lose sight of those who are exceptional. They are truly out there. I try to sacrifice for others, but I fail at times. Thanks to those of you who remind us what it means to care sacrificially about others.


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Frustrating “Treatments”

It is well-known that sometimes when you treat a condition, you create another problem. All you have to do is listen to the medication commercials and hear all the possible side effects. My dad went through this recently. He had a hernia operation. That was successful, but for no known reason, it threw his bladder into chaos. He got a foley to relieve that, then got a UTI (most likely from the foley) and developed severe sepsis. The only way to treat that is with antibiotics, but they also had to drain the urine with the bacteria. Foley back in.  If that’s not a vicious circle…

I was recently talking to a close friend about depression. I probably have known this for a long time, but I had never consciously articulated it. I don’t know any official statistics, but I think the majority of people who suffer from more severe bouts of depression tend to isolate themselves. Sometimes you don’t know for days or even weeks because you don’t see them or talk to them. For whatever reason, I am the opposite. I am like, “Hey! I’m depressed. I need you to get over here ASAP.” I have no idea why, it’s just the way it is.

After recently falling into record lows for myself, as well as interacting with people I love who also struggle, I am reminded of what I have been telling clients for years. Medication is definitely helpful and probably even required. There are a whole lot of other “interventions” that have been deemed useful as well. Most of them are common sense things that relate to health in general. Eat healthy (avoid sugar!). Exercise. Do activities that you love and/or fill you with pleasure. Interact with support people.

Here’s the frustrating part. How the heck do you do any of those things when you are depressed? They are helpful in preventing depression. They might even be helpful if you struggle a bit with the blues but don’t really cross over into actual depression. But if you are really depressed? Forget it.

Eat healthy? Lots of people eat nothing. How can you when you don’t get out of bed? Lots of people eat crummy foods. I go back and forth between the two. Eating healthy requires more prep and work. If I am lucky enough to move around the house, I’m going to grab what is easy. AND… I’m going to eat what I like instead of what I should. There’s another vicious cycle. Carbs taste great on the way down, sometimes briefly lifting my mood. Then you crash even harder after the sugar high goes away. Plus you feel bad about yourself because you  know you are going to gain weight and not feel so great about your attractiveness level.

When I crashed a few weeks ago, I had gone out to the pool. I was out of earshot of Frankie that way. Plus, I didn’t feel as bad about the friends who were staying with me if they were sitting in the sun. The problem was, I knew I was starting to get sunburned. It was also contributing to my light-headed feeling which then was adding to my panic symptoms. I knew it was happening, but I couldn’t move. Eventually, my peeps took a beach towel or two and soaked them in the pool water. They laid them over my body so I would at least stop getting burned.

If you’ve never experienced this kind of debilitating depression, that probably sounds crazy to you. How could you not just get up and walk back to the house? I remember a brief conversation about moving to the gazebo but that would have required moving furniture around. The mere thought paralyzed me. Way, way too hard.

Simple solutions. Impossible to do at certain moments in your life. Sure, do these things to get out of depression. Just know you probably can’t do them if you are depressed. Frustrating, to say the least.

If you love someone who struggles, please just be patient. Listen and listen some more. It will be tempting to offer a host of suggestions that would seem simple and possible to the average person. But trust me when I say, there are times when you just can’t.

Thanks again to my many friends and loved ones who sat and sat with me, and knew to put cool coverings on me. If you are loved by someone who can accept you at your lowest points, you are truly lucky. (Of course, when in the middle of your struggle, you might know it intellectually, but it won’t make a difference in the quality of your life in that moment.) That’s ok, because those kind of people stick by you anyway.


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Running Amok

First, before I start my blog, please notice the “badge” on the side of your screen. I didn’t even realize it was a thing, but I made #62 out of the top 75 blogs on the web that focus on healing of some sort. I am honored to be a part of this! Thanks to my small but devoted readers who are making me visible out there.
Scott, my therapist, talks about “the perfect storm” that I seem to find myself in often. You know the kind. Your boyfriend breaks up with you the same week that your kid has a birthday, your dad has surgery, and you have two funerals to attend after just attending one last week. The thing is, I am actually kind of a pro at this kind of thing. I have perfect storms somewhat regularly in my life. I get stressed, have my intense reactions, but always power through. So what the heck happened?
The only thing that makes sense to me is this. I have heard for years now about how strong I am. “One of the strongest women I know” is something I hear often. I know I am strong. I know I’ve managed several perfect storms in my life and handled them pretty well. I’ve been to hell and back a few times. “You’ve been through so much” is another thing I hear often. Why the breakdown now?
If I could talk to Jay one more time, if someone I knew could run into him, what I would communicate is this. You did it, Jay. Something we didn’t think was possible. You broke her. One of the strongest women around.
Yep, that’s how I feel. Fair or not, my relationship with Jay broke me. Granted, I’ve been chipped away at for years. Every break-up, every jerk, the years of taking care of Dad, the years of being a single parent, being a business owner… I’ve been slowly chipped away at.

What was left of me was crushed.

When I went in for my emergency session with Scott, he told me about a book he had been reading. It studied a tribe/culture where when people reached their threshold, they would take off all their clothes and really let it rip. They would cry, scream, yell, and run around naked for as long as they needed. They called it “running amok.” Then guess what happened? They were done. They would be fine.

When I “lost it,” both Scott and I knew what happens in our culture when you run amok. You get hospitalized. And we both know what happens then. They sedate you. That’s about it. While a rest would be welcome, not much else good comes from it. Then it is on your record and God knows what ramifications that could have. When I reached my breaking point, I knew that I had to find a way to help myself without going to the hospital. Crazy without going to the loony bin. My goal.

For me, I needed rest but that never means being alone. Alone is the last thing I need when I hit bottom. Not that I’ve ever hit bottom like this before. This is unlike anything I’ve been through. Like I said, I was broken.

My peeps started a babysitting schedule for me. I didn’t know what else to call it. I just needed someone to be with me, come whatever mood swing would happen. I have a ton of amazing friends and family, but it was still extremely difficult to pull that off because everyone has very busy and difficult lives of their own.

I’m sure I will write about this in weeks to come as I’ve by no means fully recovered. I will just tell you about the worst of it. That was day two of running amok. I had just answered a brief phone call from a supportive friend while lying on a chair. The next thing I knew, I couldn’t breathe. I knew it I was hyperventilating but I couldn’t stop it. My friend had experience with this from a family member so thankfully she knew what to do. Not sure I would have know how to handle it. She sat me up and then literally sat under me to give me physical support. I was worse than a wet noodle. I had no strength and my body was completely limp. At times I would stop breathing. At first, she just kept encouraging me to breath in a soothing voice. It was scary as hell. I would gasp for air and then found some muscle movement because I gripped her arms that were around me fiercely. I was so frightened.

Eventually, she led me through some beach imagery which got my breathing regulated. Then the sobbing started. I sobbed from the bottom corners of my very being. It was like wailing. I couldn’t stop. She mentioned in her soothing voice that I would get through this. That set up the vocalization of what was gripping my heart. I don’t want to get through this. I don’t want to survive. I don’t want to exist. I am tired of being at this place in my life. Not being loved by another. Not having anyone to give my love to. Suicide is not an option but I just wanted to be dead. Please God, have some mercy. I was horrified at what I heard myself saying but I couldn’t stop it.

She mentioned all the people who love me. All the people who need me. All the people who have a better life because I am in it. That started the anger pouring out. I know I help people. Who the fuck is going to help me? When is it my turn? Nope, don’t want to live like this any longer. Tired of trying to fix it. I’m broken. Just shattered.

Eventually, it all stopped. Then I was just exhausted beyond belief. Between the hyperventilating, the sun, and not taking my medication, I couldn’t walk well. I was very dizzy and off-balance. But we came up with the brilliant idea of settling me in my office. It was apart from the house which was my greatest concern. I didn’t ever want Frankie to witness any of that. Not one second of it. He doesn’t need that. My office became a place to escape to, and still is. Things have not gotten as bad as that one day, but it is a very slow climb back to a functioning life.

I’m not used to that. The way I’m wired, I feel things very intensely. It’s magnified and painful. But the upside, is that I’m done with it quickly. Break up with me on Monday, I’m back on Match by Wednesday. Not this time. Just not bouncing back this time.

The most maddening part of it, is that even though I’m furious at Jay for the way he played with a heart that has been through so much suffering, I still think about seeing him again, talking to him again, wanting to re-connect the deep way that we did. I want him to know how badly he hurt me because I know he has no concept whatsoever. But then I want him to fix it. Not feel bad, but come home to me. Whatever that might look like to start again, but let’s figure it out. Just give us a try.

I promise, love is worth it.


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Stay Tuned

To my faithful readers:

Experiencing the equivalent of a nervous breakdown. Old fashioned word, I know but it is the best description. I have my amazing people around me and we are going to lick this without a hospitalization. So stay tuned. I will have much to blog about next week, I’m sure. In the meantime, say some prayers and know we are ok.

Much Love,

Darcy


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Bonnie Raitt Strikes Again

If you want to follow the Bonnie Raitt reference, check out last week’s blog entitled “Love.”

This is going to be a very long blog. It’s a love story. It’s going to take me all day to write it, I can tell. I want it to be as perfect as it can be and I want to do it justice.

We all have core issues, whether we are aware of them or not. I have several. One of them is abandonment. I assume eventually I will be abandoned. I know love won’t last forever. And the reason is generally my other core issue. Underneath all that strength and self-esteem, I think I am not loveable, not desirable, not wantable. Of course I will be abandoned.

I’m no stranger to loss. Loss isn’t distributed evenly in life, but almost everyone has experienced loss. I have a pretty good size measure of it in my life. I don’t fear it, I just keep dealing with it. But I always worry about the loss that will be the straw that breaks this camel’s back.

When it comes to relationships, I try hard not to be jaded. I don’t want to be naive, but I don’t want to be pessimistic or create a self-fulfilling prophecy. Strangely enough, I see my fears most when I am in a healthy relationship. I guess it’s because there is something worth losing so I battle my inner panic that I’m going to be left any second.

I met Jay playing cards. I didn’t start playing cards to meet men, but there he was. I instantly liked him. I found out later, he instantly liked me too. It took a few weeks, but eventually we had our first date. In the parking lot, he asked me for a second date. And that was it, we just spent almost every day together after that. We just couldn’t help ourselves.

I tried to keep a reign on my heart initially. I even went on other dates. Whenever we would talk, Jay was always in tune to me. He knew my fears and worries. He would say things like, “I’m just talking here. I’m not going anywhere.”  Or, “I feel bad that you worried even for a minute.” When life was busy and we were in the middle of something, he would stop and say, “But Darcy, there is nothing more important than us.” And we would stop whatever we were doing and just be with each other for as long as we needed. He was amazing.

Six days after meeting me, Jay told me he loved me. He knew it was probably crazy to say, but he couldn’t help himself. I told him it was ok because I knew I loved him too, crazy or not. Sometimes, it just happens.

We are 50 though, and know that the future is precarious and unsettled. I stopped believing in forever a long, long time ago. Jay doesn’t even process time or future. We talked many times about all of this and finally came up with: We love what we are together. We have no intention of stopping it. That was it, the definition of what our love meant. I loved it. It was brilliant. Love means millions of things, but this was ours.

One of my favorite things, was how we called each other by our names. I would say, “My Jay” and he would say, “My Darcy.” He would often say things like, “What would my Darcy want?” or “I got that because it is my Darcy’s favorite.”

I quickly began to trust us because I had never felt like this before. All the evidence was there. Because Jay was there. I mean, he was really there. Shortly after we started dating, I had to attend a funeral for someone my age. I knew it was going to be really rough. Without hesitation, he came. My dad was in the hospital for a procedure. Without hesitation, he was there. He came with my favorite Starbucks and then sat there until my dad was released just so I could escort my dad while he went and brought my car around for us. I never had to ask. He always offered because he wanted to be there. He likes taking care of people. I’ve never met a male version of me before.

Jay would sometimes say to me, “I feel two feet taller now, just walking down the street.” I totally got what he meant. I was surprised at what a surprise one person could make in your life. Mine was definitely changed for the better.

One of the biggest events, was my annual fourth of July party. It’s quite a thing. Lots of people, 12-13 hours. Jay, on his own, offered to help with everything. In fact, he wanted to share the expenses. He set things up the day before. He waited on everyone the whole day. He was a better host than I was. I got phone calls and texts and comments after that day about Jay and what an incredible pair we made. It was a day to be remembered.

He also volunteered his life, his history. We told stories a lot about growing up. He has pictures all over the place. His walls, his phone, his computer. He was always showing me something. He took me to the house his family lived in when he was very small. He took me to the house where he brought up his children. He wanted to know about mine. We watched a video of my mom so he could see who she was. We had long lists of things we wanted to talk about because the only thing stopping us was the time to do it all.

Jay told me that he read once that the relationships that last, are the ones where both parties think they are the lucky ones. I thought that was an excellent thought. We would banter over and over with each other saying, “No, I’M the lucky one…” And he would tell the world if he could. He talked to everyone in my life. One night at a fire, he had a very lengthy conversation with one of my friends. She shared things with him, and he did with her. He told her that he had to pinch himself because he couldn’t believe he went to lunch and fell head over heels. When he met my sisters, he told both of them that he was in love with me. I would love to hear about the conversations he had with his friends, telling them how happy and lucky he was. He would expect people to tell him to slow down or imply that he wasn’t seeing everything clearly, but no one did. Not even his therapist. Everyone was just thrilled for him and for us.

Then there was all the fun stuff. The compatibility stuff where we just plain enjoyed the same things. My friend told me how happy she was to see me doing so many things. Finally, she said, finally someone who is active and doing things. You’ve waited a long time for that, Darcy. You guys are always doing something cool together. So happy you and Jay found each other.

Picnics were amazing. Walking hand in hand, just about anywhere. Concerts where we laughed and danced all night. Dinners, lunches, breakfasts. Movies, drive-ins. Festivals, camping, parties. Fires, comedy clubs.

The laughter was so healing. It may seem like a small thing to share the same sense of humor, but trust me when I tell you it is not. We could have gone on the road the way we could roll off each other’s lines. He would repeatedly tell me how fun it was that we always got each other’s references. Growing up at the same time lends itself to knowing the same SNL skits, movies, songs, and so on. Jay would do these facial expressions and voices that would have me rolling. One night we had been packing boxes, and the next morning he asked me if we had been drinking and he forgot. We were laughing so hard while we working that our stomachs had hurt. It just was so natural for us. So much joy.

And then there was the music. Music is part of my soul and always has been. But Jay loved music in a way that I have rarely encountered. I found myself reconnecting with music because of him. The radio was on more. I found my playlists and found myself reaching for it. Whenever we were together (which was all the time) Jay would have a playlist ready for us. He came to Karaoke one night where I have been going for a long time. He had never done it before, but he walked right up and sang, “I can’t help falling in love with you” in a romantic Elvis voice. He made it crystal clear that he was unashamedly singing to me. As soon as he hit the last note he walked over and hugged me in one of our embraces. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I know almost every person in that bar. And most of them told me I was glowing and they were thrilled to meet him because he obviously adored me.

How could I not mention the chocolate? We both love dark chocolate and Jay made sure there was always a supply. He preferred 65% cocoa, so I adjusted from my usual 85% because it was a small sacrifice to make. After a couple of weeks, somehow we discovered that he thought I preferred 65% so we were both trying to accommodate the other one. We laughed over our misunderstanding, both wanting to please the other. Now THAT is what relationships are supposed to be like.

But my favorite? It was the dancing. That touched my heart and set me on fire. A girl considers herself lucky if she can find a guy that will dance at all. Most guys don’t. Period. I will never forget the first time Jay took me dancing. We got out on the floor and I had tingles from head to toe. I knew he liked to dance, but I had no idea he was an amazing dancer. He is skilled but also fun. He is incredibly handsome but he is never so sexy as when he is on the dance floor. We danced and danced. Fast, slow, didn’t matter. We could be silly or serious. During a slow song, during that first dance date, he told me he knows it isn’t the proper protocol, but he could see us dancing to that song as our wedding dance.

One time, we were out dancing to a band he had found online. There were four to five different women who couldn’t wait to talk to us during band breaks because they said we had made their evening. They just thought we were the most amazing couple- fun, sexy, making everyone smile. Hell, the band even came up and introduced themselves to us. One woman took a bunch of pictures and texted them to me. I am never that girl. Never. I am never the one on the floor that everyone envies. I am always the one watching with envy.

We danced all the time at home. We would dance in the shower full of soap. We would dance down the hall to get to a room. We would dance naked sometimes. We loved dancing. And it was beautiful.

But life isn’t all fun and games. Especially for 50-year-old adults. There is life to be lived. We would be there as best we could for each other, helping with tasks and errands. He had to close on the house that he raised his kids in so we would meet there. We would spend hours in the hot weather, no air conditioning, and work on the garage and basement. It was dirty, hot, smelly work but we did it. There would be a bump in the road every here and there, but overall it was mostly amazing. We would get tons of stuff done.

We started swapping cars because it was easier for him to move things in my vehicle. I loved sharing each other’s cars and helping each other. He had to move his apartment too so we also spent hours packing boxes, rifling through things, purging stuff. There were movers to call, apartments to visit, etc.. Again, some minor bumps in the road, but I loved accomplishing stuff with him. We have different skill sets and I would think about what an amazing team we were. Between the two of us, we could do just about anything I think.

And then it suddenly broke down.

Jay apologized for starting something that he couldn’t finish. He realized that he has too many things to work on in his life. In fact, he feels he can only do one thing at a time, which is obviously a huge problem because no one gets to do only one thing at a time. We all have to work, take care of our health, our homes, our families. Life requires multi-tasking. For Jay, a relationship is the dispensable item on the list. For me, it is the foundation for anything else. Love is never a bad investment. Never.

His perspective is very, very different from mine. I saw hours of working together under tough conditions but laughing while doing it. He saw the few moments of stress as overshadowing the rest. He sees that he was making picnics for us when he should have been working on other things. I see a picnic that he thoroughly enjoyed with someone he loved. That same person then helped him with hours of labor packing and cleaning. Surely there was so much more benefit than cost. But that is my view.

I told him that accepting his decision has been very, very hard. I saw us as gifts to each other. We were both clearly starving for what we offered to each other (and both verbalized exactly that). I know without a doubt that my life with Jay was far, far better than my life without him. And from everything he said, everything he showed, his life was far better with his Darcy too. But that’s my opinion.

I know when you truly love someone, you have to want what is best for them. Sometimes that means giving up what you want. I love Jay that way. So I want to be able to say that as much as it hurts me, as much as he is what is best for me, if I’m not good for him I need to walk away. The problem is, in my heart of hearts, I don’t believe walking away is what is best for him. I know it’s not my place to say, but I don’t believe it. I can’t make myself believe it. I do have to accept it though.

I had been processing this with my counselor Scott as it was starting to happen. In psychology, we call it sabotage. No one can say for sure, but to us it sure looks like a classic textbook case. A man struggles to make progress, meets someone who he loves deeply, she happens to have a lot of skills and experience that directly correlate to the things he struggles with. He walks away instead of trying to make it work. His brain tells him he doesn’t feel love from me. Why? Because I make a joke while we are cleaning that directly relates to an activity we did the day before that I thought he would think was funny. Instead, he feels like I am jabbing him. So the hours I spent on my hands and knees cleaning for him didn’t feel like love to him. It didn’t feel like I cared when I kissed and hugged him every few minutes just because I like to touch him. He misunderstood a joke. Sometimes it felt like he had to work hard to misread me.

Now I am going through the embarrassment of telling people. They all react the same. No one can believe it. Everyone is shocked. Two of my friends actually cried. One person said, “No Darcy, this isn’t just a loss you have to face. This was different. He was different. I would have opened up  my heart to him too.” I never for one second thought either one of us was perfect. But when you look at the big picture? I knew we were lucky that the issues were so small in comparison to the very large great things. And everyone else saw it too. They thought we were lucky, just like I do. Just like Jay used to.

Sometimes, it hurts so much that my throat closes off and I can’t breathe. I can’t even imagine hearing music now that isn’t attached to him. We had a special playlist for the bedroom. We would sing lyrics to each other while intimate. Who does that? Jay and Darcy did.

This camel’s back is broken. Shattered.

I feel so dumb. I am 50, not 15. How did I not know to not let a man into every corner of my life? Now I have nowhere to go or be without the touch of his memory. Then I go back to my friend’s comment and I feel a little less dumb. Everyone around us admired our love and connection. I wasn’t a fool.

I told Frankie, my son, about him. It has been years since I told him that someone was going to be around. I told him that I wouldn’t even involve him if I didn’t think that this guy was going to be around. He just said, “they always leave anyway, Mom.” I haven’t had the courage yet to tell him he was right again. Once again, I fucked it up with my kid. I thought I had it right this time.

I don’t want anyone to tell me I will get through this. I hate hearing that. I don’t want to. Getting through it, leaves me where I was. I don’t want my life back before I met Jay. I am sick of the existential crisis I live in. No one to love. Lots of friends and support that I am blessed to have but feel terribly guilty because it doesn’t make me happy. I am grateful, but it isn’t what fills the hole in my heart. Then I feel like shit because I know I’m lucky to have so many people in my life. I hate that existence. I want the life I had with Jay.

Bottom line? Bonnie Raitt wins again. I can’t make him love me. I can’t convince him, even though I tried. I even begged him.  I know his heart, and if he knew exactly how much this has hurt me, it would devastate him. But his answer is that he should have broken up with me sooner. I told him he should have never taken to me lunch. Never started. But that is not the answer I want him to come to. I want him to finish what he started. I want him to not walk away. I want him to realize what we had and how damn lucky we were to have it. I want him to realize that working on us would open up a whole word of opportunity to work on all the other things he wants to work on. A loving, supportive partner who works equally hard on herself would be a gift, not a deterrent.

I want him to come home to his Darcy.


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Love

“I can’t make you love me if you don’t
You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t
Here in the dark, in these final hours
I will lay down my heart and I’ll feel the power
But you won’t, no you won’t
‘Cause I can’t make you love me, if you don’t”

That is a song by Bonnie Raitt and I realized it was my life song several years ago. It is one of the first songs I ever learned at Karaoke. It is written in the context of a lover, but I identify with it on many levels of relationships. I have spent much too much of my lifetime trying to get people to care about me that don’t, then more time mourning because I’m not loved the way I had hoped to be.

My dad is a stoic German. He isn’t comfortable saying I love you. My sister was always able to be satisfied knowing that he loves us. He is kind, generous, predictable, stable and a provider and so on. But I always wanted (and still do) him to say it as well.

Then I got married in my early twenties. After my husband became an atheist, he also no longer believed in marriage or romance. He told me repeatedly that he had never loved me. He tricked himself into believing in love because he wanted to have sex. We were Christians and believed in waiting for marriage. Therefore, he tried to tell himself he loved me in order to relieve his sexual urges. When I would show him the box of letters he wrote me during our engagement, (one a day, sometimes two a day) he dismissed them as lies.

I dated a guy after Tim died that I thought was a real possibility of being someone I could stay with. He went to karaoke with me and heard me sing my Bonnie Raitt song. When I came back to my seat, he whispered in my ear, “You will never have to sing that song again. You need a new life song now.” My heart soared at the thought. About three weeks later, he left Frankie and I without any explanation or closure.

Later, I dated a guy on/off for about three years. Every couple of months he felt the need to remind me that I loved him more than he loved me, that he didn’t want anything permanent in our future. I didn’t either, but for some reason it had to come up over and over.

Now I have a teenager who I tell I love every few days and I get no response or an “ok” for an answer. Where did that come from? He grew up in a home that has love expressed consistently. Yeah, I know. Normal teenage stuff.

I have a guy friend who doesn’t say I love you to a girlfriend until he is ready to ask her to marry him. Two and a half years of dating but they don’t exchange that phrase.

I have a girl friend who doesn’t think much of saying it at all. Her response is, “Don’t say it, show it.”

Everyone has different perspectives I guess.

The New Testament was written in the Greek language. There are at least three different words for “love” depending on the nuance of the word. That is part of the problem. We only have one word that I know of. It is an incredibly complex subject (love) with millions of meanings, but it is a wonderful thing.

When I say, “I love you,” to someone I met recently but “fell head over heals” for, it means something different from when I feel love for them six months later. It means something different twenty years later. And if I whisper it on someone’s death-bed, it means something different. But it is all love. All of it.

Then there is love as an action or choice. Sometimes we love someone even if we don’t like them very much at the moment. We choose to behave in a loving way because that is just what is needed.

Here is another theme song for me.

“What the world needs now is love, sweet love
It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of
What the world needs now is love, sweet love,
No not just for some but for everyone.”

Written by Hal David. Yep, that is also the damn story of my life. I tell all my friends and family, 90% of the time, that I love them. At the end of every phone call. I guess when you have lost lots of people (and some very suddenly) you are very aware how important it is. Sure, I understand that it can become meaningless if it is overused. But can you overuse love?

This is my heartbeat, the core of who I am. But my experience has been the first song. Just the way it is. I am going to keep trying to love, in whatever form it is, no matter the response I get back from the world. It gets really, really hard sometimes, but I am going to try.