It’s Not You It’s Me

Warm dim light from a purple desk lamp. My mind fluffy like a chocolate chip muffin right out of the hot oven.

Books, notebooks, journals on shelves already full. Pages and pages of words that make no sense. I make no sense. Senseless. Like a roach on a clean kitchen counter. I sit at my wooden desk, slouch over the blank page. So much I wish to say and then I don’t. Where am I going with this? I close my heavy eyes, black mascara smearing on my powdered cheeks (wait, wasn’t it supposed to be waterproof?) I see a muddy hole. Jasmine perfumed lit candles all inside. I enter, because why not? My bare feet stumbling on small slippery steps. Like quicksand. I let myself go. There is a small white paper folded in four. I see it. I hold it with trembling hands. Should I open it? I do. Blue ink, the color of clouds. Write Elena it says. Go deep and write.

A year ago my ex-husband died. A heart attack while he was alone, at home. In the middle of the night. Everything that could go right went wrong. He told me when we met, his death had been predicted at a young age. Knowing so, and believing it, he spent all his life rushing from one place to another, with little sleep, a suitcase always packed. I wonder how he feels about all this now that he is no more. In the end, was it worth it? Is it what you wanted out of life? When it’s your time to go you got to go, nothing we can do about it. Divine time is everything and so is surrender to the things we cannot change. Because how can you deal with pain, otherwise?

We were not on good terms, so I did not get a chance to say a proper good-bye which is most likely what is prompting me to write this. I’m not going to lie, it has taken me some time to gather the courage to type these words. My hope is that at the end of this post something in me will change, the circle will somehow feel less open and the stone in my heart will seem less heavy.

There has not been one day since his passing that I have not thought about him. When I wake up something from my past with him pops up out of nowhere, or during the day when I am doing something another vivid image will come up. At night before I go to bed, the thought of where he is creeps in. I still have flashes of the many things we did together, the vip life he had created for all of us, the numerous trips around the world and the largeness of everything I was immerse in for twenty years. I still speak to him, and I realize you may think it’s weird, it’s impossible. I guarantee you it’s not. The body dies, but the soul moves on. And it is indeed possible to have a dialogue as real as if you and me were chatting over chai somewhere on planet earth.

During our years together we took different turns a couple of times, our lives too different until we went in two complete separate directions when the kids left for college. I was so over it all that I got rid of all my belongings minus four suitcase and left. I recreated a whole other life for myself. One much simpler and way less mundane, one in which I only count on myself. Many thought I was crazy, a midlife crisis or something. But I will leave this for another post.

When we were together everything was perfect. From the outside. Many people envied me, jealousy off the chart, and I get that because no one really knew what was going on behind the grandiosity of it all. Funny how when your mind’s eyes look at something that is no more, when you know for a fact that there is no way back your heart only recollects the beauty that was, the smiles, the happy moments and forgets about th many m.a.n.y more that were just the opposite. But I don’t want to talk about these right now. I want to liberate myself instead and write about forgiveness hoping that my words will reach him, wherever he is. And leave an imprint in you, the reader. So, that you may not make the same mistake I did. The one of waiting until it was too late. So here it is. I forgive you, D. I forgive you for the things you said, the ones you did and didn’t do. I forgive you for the words you spoke out of haste or anger or jet-lag of whatever it was that made you lose it. I forgive you. And this is the moral of the story: don’t wait for the perfect moment, for that day or that one thing to happen to make peace with someone, because that day might never make it. Break the shackles around your heart, free it- a butterfly flying to unknown lands. Feel the weight at the center of your chest melt, like marshmallows roasted for too long. Taste the freedom that is forgiving, a ripe mango spreading its sweetness on your tongue. Forgive. Especially those who hurt you knowingly or just  because they couldn’t do any better. Make the first move. Do it.

Forgiveness = Liberation. 

Thanks for reading ❤️