“I can’t do this anymore,” are the words that instantly reverberated in my mind. “What, what you are saying?” I quizzed. “We need to end this, I can’t do it,” was his reply. ” Another question from me, “You mean us, I thought we were going to live together until we die.” In a kind of innocent voice he offered, “Well we can end it now or we can finish the trip first.”
It was those words, end it now that flipped my top. Like an explosive 12 ounce beer, the bottled emotion exploded from my heart and my gut. “End it!” I shrieked in horror. It is the last thing I wanted. I had become so happy with my life and lived each day thinking of ways to enrich our bond. Now, I learn it was only working for me. With authority and assertiveness, I squealed, “If we are going to end it, we need to end it now.” At the same time I felt the devastation of a love gone bad. How I wanted to calm down, but if it was over, I couldn’t continue to go on a three month vacation. I had to find a residence. I had to again start a new life. And then, like a summer squall the tears flowed for hours as he drove and drove, nearly non-stop back from whence we came.
Three weeks later and there is a constant urge to send a text, to practice playing the Shadow of Your Smile on my piano. All the while the reality seems that I will not spend the rest of my life with this handsome man who brought so much calmness and efficiency into my life. A man who I longed to kiss good night each night. A man who would leave me, who for whatever reason just couldn’t keep joy in his heart when I was present. Like a microburst, in a split second it was over. Or is it?
And so, at age 69 I sit on the seat in the airport waiting the arrival of my sister. To refrain from stalking him, bothering him, or being a whiny chasing female I distract myself by: practicing French using the online DuoLingo Language Program, write up this blog entry, and perhaps work on my journal organization. In simple terms it is said another one bites the dust as I focus on a life on my own. I failed at making this relationship work. I blew up like a cork on an aged bottle of champagne. The damage to the relationship would be akin to putting the alcohol back in its container. After all, he too seemed to be overwhelmed by the emotional outburst and just wanted me gone. I was like an out of control freight train, or a wounded deer that wanted to run far and fast away from the hunter.
Yet, in my imagination when I look up from the computer screen, I see him the way I saw him when he arrived in the airport in the Dominican Republic. I see him coming to get me while at the same time I am awake to the reality that he will . . .
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