A romantic interlude-3

Twenty-three summers ago, my wife's mother died, in Hawaii. She was in a hospital, with heart problems, but none of us knew how sick she really was. Her oldest daughter and only son were there. Her middle child, my wife, and our three young children were in the family cottage on Sanibel, when the phone calls started coming. After she died, the other two siblings brought her ashes back to the island in her favorite carryon bag, which I thought was a nice touch. The three children of this remarkable woman then kayaked into the jungle and spread her ashes somewhere in a place only they know.

The reason I am telling this story is that the night before she died, my mother-in-law stayed up very late into the night, talking to a stranger, a nurse on the night shift. This woman later told my wife's older sister that the dying woman described in great deal each of her five grandchildren, their essential natures and the promise of their futures. These five have indeed all thrived in the decades since. She would be proud of all of them.

But the point of my story tonight is that after she had given all of this intimate family insight over to the care of this night nurse, she fell into a deep sleep, and never awoke again. Years later, I discovered this frequently happens to nurses caring for dying patients; at the very end, they want to give their stories to somebody before they leave this world.

The reason her story came to me tonight is I think I am doing something very similar, on an emotional level, by trying to relive the love affair I had with my Angel. Hopefully, I will not keel over and die when this story-telling is finished, but it does seem that I am driven to tell our story, in a certain amount of detail, now that I have committed to letting her go.

Rereading my earlier post tonight (.2), I am not very impressed with the passion behind that writing. It captures the period well, but not the feelings that were coursing through me week by week as we became ever closer, though not lovers, not partners, just friends.

I am going to have to get this story right before I can honestly let her go. If she ever reads these fragmented chapters, I hope she'll forgive me that this is my way of letting her go, a story-teller's way. Some stories do not have happy endings; our's didn't. You all know how this story ends. Yet there may be some worth in the retelling. Maybe you, maybe me, maybe her, maybe someone apart from all of us will benefit somehow.

I'm remembering the classic, "Letters to a Young Poet,", and the other works of an author who argued that no matter what else you may think about all of this relational chaos surrounding us -- all of our betrayals, our secrets, our mistakes, our true loves, our moments of heated passion, and the long sadness of our loyalty to someone who has already left us emotionally -- despite all of that and so much more -- this is how we arrived here as a species, reproducing oursleves, evolving, and probably overpopulating the planet. There's beauty and tragedy in our collective history.

Enough of that. Back to our story. So a group of intrepid artists and writers had cooperated to try and capture the essence of San Francisco, circa 2004. Friends of mine (Mary and Rhonda) were designing and organizing the photos for this "book," and I was in charge of acquiring or writing the stories that would accompany the images in its final form.

We had lots of fun doing this project, but we also expended a lot of creative energy, which, as it turns out, was never properly compensated for, according to the contracts we were working under.

I must here break with my story and say, if any of you have any dealings with BIG magazine, beware! They ripped me and lots of others off. I am still owed over a thousand dollars and none of my writers ever were paid. Shame on you, BIG owners. Ripping off creative people is a crime that may not be on any court's case list, but truly is a crime against our common humanity.

Back to the BIG party. J agreed to go to this one with me. I included two of her friends on the guestlist, but they never showed up. Not to worry, she and I had a very good time. We toured the "castle," explored the waterways, and talked with some of the guests. At one point, outside of the castle, we were perched on an uneven stair, talking to other guests, and the wind was rather chilling. I placed my arm around her, and she folded into me, and for the very first time we felt each other's warmth, and it affected both of us on a deep physical level.

For me, it was special and lovely to finally be holding her, which, given our position, could be considered necessary so she would not fall down backwards. Her body was warm, slender, and cozy all at once. She was letting me take care of her in a new way. In all of our months of friendship, we had rarely touched one another. Now we were.

And my life would never be the same again.