Reflections

I awoke this morning early (for me. You would be in the kitchen at that point, feeding the cats and making your lunch).

Someone on Twitter brought to my attention an article on compassion. It dealt with insensitive oncology doctors treating her mother’s cancer while mistreating her. It brought me back to last meeting on the deck, when I demonstrated none of that.

I feel your pain more now than then, and with greater awareness. And, I am sorry to my marrow for it. It was triggered by your rigidity, which I realize was your defense mechanism.  I failed to demonstrate proper deck-side manner.

That was not the only trigger. I saw that you were prepared for our fierce conversation. You had written it out longhand. THE LIST. The record of my failures, promises made but not kept, time schedules included. Little record of the things I might have done right, or the compassion I showed at any given moment other times. Thank you for thanking me for mowing your lawn, though you made it clear you didn’t understand why I would have done that. I recognized then that you really didn’t, that the things I did do during our time together were a puzzlement to you, other than when I cleared out the garage so you would not have to deal with a snow covered car on wintry mornings.  

So, knowing there was no baby in there, you rightly chose to throw out the bathwater. For my part, I was not prepared to sit through the litany of my failings. I am list averse.

I feel your pain more now than then, and with greater awareness. And, I feel mine, as I have done with greater intensity every day since we parted. Tonight would be our night together per our agreement. I will miss that. I will miss preparing dinner for you, and watching the news, sharing the events of your day and swelling with pride as I watch you grow and develop in your roles. I will miss your hugs and the beauty in your eyes, the soft glow that envelopes your face. As I see your visage in my mind’s eye, warmth fills me, mixed with sadness. You were the greatest love of my life. I regret not showing you.

I write this as my way of healing, I guess. But in so doing I have discovered epiphanies of my own. On those nights when I returned home, it was not to be ‘home’ with her. It was to be in a place where I am comfortable, except for her presence, which I can accept for the moment. It is my home, and it is clean. I realized then how uncomfortable I was in your home. I see myself consciously cleaning it to as close to my standards as I could. Change the litter boxes, scrub the floors, vacuum the carpets and clean the kitchen. How many times did I think, “What if we had friends over? What would they think?” So, I did the laundry and tried to figure out how I would rearrange the lower level to receive guests? I went home because it was neat.