Day 81

You are more than I could have dreamed of
The child I was couldn't have imagined a love
so pure, so true

A love that is not merely a fairytale

You are everything...
A feeling that can only be experienced and not fantasized
Your love fills me, spills out of me
and I come alive because of all you give

I remain who I was when I met you,
but have become so much more
Because of the love we share
I am complete... I am saved.

Day 80

It's been many, many days since I wrote anything. Sometimes that happens... but I wrote a new poem tonight, so here goes.

Autumn Returns

He stands behind me and envelops me in warmth
His arms wrapped tightly around my torso
The heat of his breath on my neck tingles down my body,
And I shiver though not cold

Surrounded by the wind, he holds me tightly
As autumn sings a song of crisp nights best spent in a lover's embrace
We're awash in a shower of golden leaves and gently falling raindrops
The chill of the drizzle on my flesh sharply contrasts with the fire of his lips on mine

My eyes fill with tears, not of sorrow but delight
The joy of love as pure as always, yet richer with the passage of time
The moment as enchanted as those of years long past
His breath on my neck, his lips on my own more thrilling as that first night

(Dedicated to my amazing, beloved husband... I am a better person because of his love.)

Day 79

Silver Eyes

Her mouth was painted with the stains of sweet, ripe raspberries
Our kiss tasted of summer's promise
As warm as the sun-baked earth beneath us
Above a sky of midnight blue bathed in brilliant stars
But the only moonlight shimmered in her silver eyes
My name a song I pulled from her lips
Her lithe body quivered in the warm summer breeze

(The sestina still needs work... coming soon to a computer screen near you!)

Day 78

Two new poems in the form of a cinquain.

Solace

His embrace
My quiet peace
A respite from the world
A place where hurt cannot reach me
My home

All I Need

Your arms
Wrapped tightly
Around me when we sleep
All I need is this kind of love
Forever

I am working on a sestina. This is the most complex and challenging poetic form I have tried, but I'm getting there. I'll post that when it's done.

Day 77

My favorite book of all time is by Judy Blume. Actually, many of my favorite books of all time are hers, but Summer Sisters is something truly special. I think every woman should read this book, and if you love Judy Blume and haven't read it, you're cheating yourself out of a very special experience. If you have not read it, and think you might want to, stop reading this now. Bookmark it or ask me about it after you've read Summer Sisters because I do not want to take anything away from the experience.

When I was a child, in a highly dysfunctional family, I often found myself lost and isolated. I took to reading quickly and with passion. It is the first thing I remember excelling at, actually. Until then, I was the chubby little kid who seemed to annoy adults with stupid questions. It was an unexpected success to be in the top reading group of my first grade class. I quickly became a voracious reader. By second grade, my home situation had gone from bad to worse. My mother was a raging alcoholic, and my parents had been separated for several years. I shared a bed with my three year-old brother - and he had a nasty tendency to wet the bed at night. I had moved from a small town called Garwood to its much larger, affluent neighbor Cranford. Before my parents' divorce, I'd lived in Westfield, Garwood's other (even more) affluent neighbor. At 8 years-old I'd already moved about one time for each year I'd been alive.

I remember that I loved biographies. I loved books in general, but in second grade my passion was for biographies. I took out children's biographies about Washington, Lincoln, Amelia Earhart and others. I read the Lincoln biography on a rare, quiet afternoon over the course of about two hours. It was 82 pages long.

I first remember reading Judy Blume in fourth grade. The book was, not surprisingly, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. I related to that title. I felt like a "nothing" much of the time. By this point in my life, my mother had lost custody of my brother and I, and we lived with her family... also highly dysfunctional, but certainly more stable than any other life I'd known. I loved the book. I went to the library and took out more of her books. I found Are You There God? It's me, Margaret and while I couldn't quite understand why any girl wanted to get her period, I was relieved to have read the book because, like Margaret, my head was full of confusing and often contradictory thoughts.

I discovered that Judy Blume, like me, was born in February and in New Jersey. She had several stories that took place, at least in part, in NJ. Forever, one of her young adult novels, even took place in Westfield - yes, the same Westfield I'd lived in.

I related to so many of the characters she created, and it was largely because of her books that I began to write. It first started in my head. I'd be narrating what I was doing or watching silently. I still do this, especially in situations that intimidate or amaze me.

In 1998, I'd just moved back to New Jersey after several years in the Philadelphia suburbs. I was back in Cranford, living with my mother (sober by then) and my baby sister, who was almost seven. I was at the Barnes & Noble near the daycare center I worked at when I saw Summer Sisters in the new release section. It was the first time in my life I'd bought a hard-cover book, but I had to have it. I was 22 and made lousy money in daycare. I paid rent to my mother and helped (read: took over) care for Kaitlyn, my baby sister.

I immediately related to Vix, the main character in Summer Sisters. I was, like Vix, the eldest child. I was the one who somehow managed to remain about as unscathed as one can in a family like mine. I was, at the time, desperately trying to get back into school. I'd flunked out of college the first time I tried. I was also, as always, writing frequently. In those days, I mostly wrote poetry with the occasional short story thrown in just to keep things interesting.

I'd had a friend like Caitlin Somers - Vix's "summer sister," and oldest friend. She'd stolen my boyfriend, amongst other things. She was older and beautiful and daring. She was smart, but not terribly motivated. She had a tendency to lie, as did Caitlin. Like Vix, I was never quite sure (once I'd uncovered the lies) what was true and what was just an alternative reality she'd created in her mind.

I'd also had that friend I'd tested sexual boundaries with as a younger girl. My first 'real' kiss was with her, when we she was eight and I was nine. It was in the shed behind my grandparents above ground pool. The shed was old, metal and smelled like chlorine. I remember we decided that kissing felt a lot like sucking on a marshmallow. We tried it a few times, and then years later, one night in the pool when we were teenagers, we'd share another kiss. I was reminded of that in the scene of the novel where Caitlin, in her young 20s, dances a fiery Flamenco dance for Vix alone in a hotel room, and for just a moment it is quite obvious there is a strong sexual undercurrent.

Summer Sisters has become a tradition for me. I have read it at the start of every summer since that first one in June 1998. I just picked it up today to start reading it for this summer. It's a bit early, especially now that I live in the Colorado Rocky Mountain foothills, and we just had 18 inches of snow fall last week... but it's just "time." I can't explain it. It's like this every year. Sometimes, I just need to read the book and it's still only April. When that happens, I read it again sometime in June or July. I have read this book more than any other. It is like an old friend.

Last year, due to some unique circumstances in my life, I came to believe that Caitlin was always in love with Vix. Romantically in love with her, and that this was what motivated Caitlin's behavior where Vix was concerned. I don't think Vix ever really recognized this... and for all I know Judy Blume does not believe Caitlin was "in love" with Vix. It's just my interpretation of the story, and reading it again following that revelation (last winter), things made more sense. Caitlin at one point tells Vix she always wanted what Vix had, and Vix is baffled by this. Caitlin is incredibly beautiful, rich and seemingly free. I think Caitlin wanted what Vix had in the sense that Vix was able to form real bonds with people, while Caitlin flitted about... but I also think Caitlin wanted to be with Vix because she felt no one else understood her the way Vix did, and as we all know, that feeling is priceless. The safety that comes with being loved that way is something no one should ever take for granted, and though Caitlin does at times take it for granted, I also think she realized how rare and precious the gift of acceptance she got from Vix was.

I will always cry at the end. Vix is married, with a six month-old baby named for the little brother she lost as a teenager. They are in a wild flower field on Martha's Vineyard (where much of the book takes place), and they are dedicating it to Caitlin's memory. She has vanished while boating in Italy, and Vix, as the last to have seen her, is inconsolable. I sob hysterically every time I get to this point of the story. I have read the book enough times to have literally memorized sentences, and I think them before I read them.

Every year, I think... wow, I wish I could write like this. I try to come up with a story, and though I have plenty, I am me. I'm not Judy Blume, and though I'd love to emulate her style, I can only really ever be myself. I wrote a romance novel (that of course I can't find an agent for, haha) about seven years ago. Even though it is unlikely to ever get published, just having that opportunity to write "The End" after about 350 pages was thrilling. Though not like the stories I'd read by Judy Blume, I know I owe part of that achievement to her influence in my life as a reader. I think that, even for a romance novel, the characters are authentic and have a "voice" of their own, and that is something I learned from reading books like Blubber, or Deenie.

I have no intentions of giving up on the dream of being a "published (and paid)" writer. In fact, I told my husband a few weeks ago that I have a new goal. I want to be published and paid for something I have written by the time I am 45. I have eleven years to accomplish that goal, and I certainly hope it will be a novel that I publish. I am in graduate school to be a high school English teacher, and part of the appeal is that I get to teach what I love - and I get summers off to pursue my dream of being on the library bookshelves someday.

So, as I sat down to start my annual journey with Vix and Caitlin, I remembered this goal. I will keep it firmly in mind as I continue to read my favorite story for probably the 22nd time. I will live vicariously through Vix for a few days (I like to savor the book), and I will keep her, and other characters created by Blume, in mind as I consider what I want to write next. I'll keep a box of tissues handy, not only for the end, but also for the point in the novel where Vix realizes she has found the man of her dreams. Through her thoughts, we learn that she realizes the others were just "practice." She knows she won't get bored with this man, and she says she won't allow him to be bored with her. I cry when I read that, because I found that with my husband, whom I met about six months after reading Summer Sisters for the first time.

About five years ago, I emailed Judy Blume to share with her how influential this book has been in my life. She emailed me back and talked about what she believed happened to Caitlin. It was so cool of her to do that, and I loved that she thinks about it as a "what might have happened," as opposed to a certainty about what happened to this character she created. Caitlin is a mysterious character. She is the only main character whose thoughts we never hear, and it seemed appropriate, somehow, that even her creator wasn't quite sure what happened to her in the end.

I still read that same hardcover version I bought nearly 12 years ago. I hope to be reading the same copy in another 12 years... and to be celebrating my own success as an author.

Day 76

Flames flicker and cast shadows
Heavy with longing and mystery
The chill of a spring night is swept away
On the wisps of sweet wood smoke

His profile in firelight is strong
His hand covers mine, and he squeezes gently
My fingers are warmed by his
Interlaced on his knee

We sit in silence
With shared glances and delicate caresses
We do not need words tonight
Our language is our love

Darkness quietly washes away the light
Of our warm May Sunday
Stars shimmer in the inky night sky
My hand covers his as we watch the fire fade

Day 75

Today I am introducing you to a writing style you are probably already familiar with, but it's one I much enjoy, and desperately need to make use of at the moment. It is called "The Rant." I did not create this style, but I do believe I've enjoyed much success with it, and hopefully, the rant that follows - simply called "Stupid People," will demonstrate that I am adept with ranting.

The hardest part of having a chronic medical condition isn't always the symptoms caused by said condition. Sometimes, it's the stupidity of people you foolishly talk to about the condition. I have a cornucopia of conditions to choose from, but let's start with infertility.

There is a rule... it's unspoken, and typically ignored, but it is a rule nevertheless, and those of us who've battled infertility are well acquainted with this rule. Don't ask a couple when they're going to have kids. I don't care if they've been "married long enough," or if you think she might be passing her fertility prime. It is none of your damn business. Doesn't matter if it's your sister, your daughter, your best friend... you don't ask this question. Many couple choose not to have kids. IF they want to address that with you, they will. Some couples - like my husband and myself - try for years and go through the heartbreak of failed infertility treatments, and they don't want to have to talk about it because it fucking hurts. It's emotionally painful, and often also physically painful.

People, however, are stupid and insensitive. They ask anyway. Usually, when they ask me, they're sorry they did. I refuse to be polite and just say, "oh, it didn't work out." Nope. You wanna be nosy? Then you get to hear all about my ovarian cysts and the endometrial tissue that lines the insides of my body, swells and bleeds and causes me unspeakable pain. You can hear about how my hair is still falling out after six months of medically induced menopause - oh, how did they do that? Shots in my ass. Yeah, fun stuff. Aren't you glad you asked? The way I look at it, I am doing a service to other people in my shoes. Maybe this person will be sorry enough they asked that they won't repeat that stupid mistake with another couple.

Then there are the ones who, when you first mention "infertility," will interrupt and either say, "well, did you try the treatments?" or "maybe you should adopt." No, I didn't try any treatments. I just like to complain. Duh. All I ever wanted was to be a mother. Of course I tried the damn treatments. Four rounds and two years and I'd had it. I couldn't do it anymore. By then I knew I had not one, but two conditions and the odds of me ever getting pregnant were minuscule. Maybe to you it sounds like I gave up too soon. To me, it sounds like I was done with the monthly heartbreak of not being pregnant... AGAIN. 26 months of that was more than enough, thanks. I had to preserve my sanity, and although I am one of the lucky ones whose marriage wasn't impacted that badly by infertility, it still has an impact. If nothing else, just think about how you'd like to have specifically timed sex that ends in ridiculous ways you don't want to hear about for months on end. It's no picnic.

As for adoption, well... I have fibroymyalgia, depression, Hashimoto's disease, endometriosis, PCOS and my husband has multiple sclerosis. We're hardly ideal candidates for adoption. It's also NOT without the risk of heartbreak, and it's incredibly expensive. We're atheists, and that's also a challenge because many international adoption agencies have a religious foundation. Not to mention, I've already dealt with invasive treatments and tests to figure out what's wrong with my insides. I don't want that same invasive procedure in my personal life to qualify for adoption. We've discussed it, at length. My husband would do it for me... but it's not right for us and it's doubtful we'd qualify anyway, at least not for an infant and for many, many reasons - all personal choices we have every right to make - we don't want to adopt an older child. We don't want to adopt any child, but that's beside the point, because bring up the medical stuff and someone always says, "there are older kids who need a home, too." Yes. Maybe you should adopt one if you feel so strongly about it that you want to tell ME to do it. The bottom line? The answer to "why don't you adopt?" is also "none of your damn business."

Okay, so let's move on to fibromyalgia. I have chronic, near constant pain from this condition. I have some days that are worse than others, but I haven't been pain free for a full day in nearly nine years. I also haven't had a decent night of sleep in that time frame. It takes its toll. I recently decided, partly because of the fibro and partly for other reasons unrelated to medical stuff, that I wanted to teach high school instead of elementary school. It's less physically demanding, and in some ways, less mentally demanding. When you don't sleep well, your brain just gets, well... tired. There's no other way to describe it. Some days, just trying to think hurts.

Fibro is fun because a lot of people don't believe in it still (including my grandmother, though she refuses to just outright say it - or at least she doesn't believe *I* have it). Researchers still really aren't sure what the hell it even is, how it is caused. Which makes treatment options sort of a shot in the dark, really. There are only three FDA approved treatments. One is Lyrica, which did literally nothing for me or to me. Nothing good or bad... I had no reaction to it (which is good because at least it means I didn't have terrible side effects). The other two are both antidepressants, and to be specific, they're SSRIs. I can't take SSRIs. They give me terrible depression (ironically) and cause extreme anxiety attacks. That said, out of desperation at one point, I did try an SSRI called Elavil. The smallest dosage possible made me sleep for 17 hours (and it was a heavy, hard sleep - not restorative at all). I also tried gabapentin, which is a drug chemically similar to Lyrica, but it's generic and use of it to treat fibro is "off label." It helped the pain some, but made me crazy - literally. I was angry, hostile and miserable. It wasn't worth it. I also tried physical therapy, but the therapist wanted me to go down to a center that has a pool. Which would be great, except driving there would take an hour - and driving is one of the more painful activities I can do. My doctor agreed that driving an hour for a 45 minute therapy session I then had to drive an hour home from would just be silly and counterproductive.

So, we've established what I've done for the fibro. At this point, all I can do is get through my days with the various medications that help (like Xanax, Vicodin, Flexeril). I use them as little as possible, but when I need them, I need them. I make no apologies for that. But because of this, when I finish my Master's degree, I plan to look into some of the online charter schools for employment. My grandmother had asked why I was changing to secondary education, and I was explaining all this to her, and she (stupidly) asks, "don't you think that will ever go away?" Uhm, NO. I've told her this before, but I said it again... there is no cure for fibro. I've exhausted the known treatment options. I deal with the pain. I try to live my life as best I can... but if something like working from home can make my life easier, why wouldn't I do it if it's an option??? But you have to know my grandmother to know that it wasn't just an innocent question. It was heavy with unspoken disbelief and accusations. She clearly either doesn't believe in fibro or (more likely) doesn't believe I have it. Which is also really, really frustrating to deal with... and it is stressful, and fibro and stress aren't happy bedfellows.

Which brings me to the main point. People are stupid. I mean, does she think I'm just sitting here in pain not even trying to do anything about it? Part of the issue is probably that I don't complain much, especially to her. Which makes it less likely I could *really* be in so much pain. Now, let's just analyze the source of this unspoken criticism for a moment. Seven years ago, she broke a crown in the front of her mouth. There is still a gap there because she's too terrified to deal with the dentist. She has needed glasses my entire life, but says that her eyes will get "worse" if she wears them, so instead she squints and scares the crap out me whenever I consider she still drives (oh, and mind you - I've worn glasses since second grade. I've had my eyesight improve twice in the past five or six years. Not by much, but still.). Her feet have caused her extreme pain for years, but she doesn't go to a doctor to get inserts made that might help. Next time she says, "don't you think it will ever go away?" I might come back with, "do you think you'll ever get your tooth fixed?" ARGH.

She's not a "bad" person (not that I believe in "bad" and "good," per se). But this aspect of her personality is frustrating and downright pisses me off at times. Just because you are unwilling to do what you need to do to take care of certain issues (like missing teeth), don't assume I am also unwilling. If there was a magic wand that could take away my pain, I'd wave it and say the spell. Unfortunately, no matter how determinedly I point my wand, and no matter who convincingly I shout, "reparo!" there is no magic to fix me. I'm broken. I deal with it... if *I* can deal with it, you should certainly be able to deal with it, and just be glad it's me and not you.

They say mean people suck, and while I concur, I also think stupid people suck, and frankly, there are times when I'd prefer actual malicious intent over stupidity. At least then I can attack back...

Day 74

You cannot recognize and accept true love if  you have not yet recognized and accepted your true self. This is my own quote... and I keep telling myself this... not to excuse her behavior, because there is no excuse for what she did to us. But as an explanation of what happened, of why we never had a chance to make it work.

She is now claiming that we are the "ultimate" liars because we said we could accept her for who she is and we couldn't. I know she believes that to be 100% true, too, because that is what she does. She convinces herself - and those around her - of what she thinks should be true or what she wants to be true. It doesn't much  matter if it isn't the truth, because for her, within seconds of thinking it, it IS the truth.

For a while, I have thought she took something intangible from us... something we can never get back. I talked to him about it, though, and the more I think about it, the more I realize it's just not true. Our marriage is every bit as whole as it was when we met her. We wanted to share our lives with her, but it wasn't something we "needed" in any way. I know he loves me even more than he did when we met her, and the same is true of me for him. So, what did she take? Nothing, really. What was left behind was even stronger than what she found.

I am angry. I am hurt by the fact that she is now pinning the blame on us because we couldn't accept who she was. All we couldn't accept was the lying. For every lie I know about, if she'd just been honest, we'd still be together - with one crucial exception. She lied to herself and to us about who she is and what she wanted. I am not sure if she even knew what she wanted or who she was, but she morphed into who she thought we wanted. Every change she made that we questioned, she swore was for herself... we may have opened her eyes to the matter at hand, but she wanted those changes for her. I see the things she's doing now and realize how few of those changes were really for herself. I wish I at least believed that she learned valuable lessons in her relationship with us - as she claimed when it ended - but based on her actions and words, I can see she clearly has learned little, and sadly she probably never will.

I'm slowly letting go. I don't go to her profiles much anymore. I blocked her on facebook and took her off my MySpace page. I haven't said a word to her in over three weeks, nor do I intend to again if it can be avoided. I don't think she hurt us intentionally, at least not in the grand scheme of things... but her naivete and her inability to know her true self at the age of 40  hurt us. She let us put our marriage on the line for her when she had no idea who she really was or what she really wanted... and THAT more than anything else makes me angry.

I am no longer sure of anything where she is concerned. I don't know what was real for her, if any of it was. I only know she convinced herself it was real when that mattered most.

This makes me sad. I know what I felt was real. I loved her dearly. Problem is, I loved a version of her she created just for me, and he loved a version created just for him.

Lies are often much more plausible, more appealing to reason, than reality, since the liar has the great advantage of knowing beforehand what the audience wishes or expects to hear. 
~Hannah Arendt

 We must be our own before we can be another's.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

These are two quotes I think of now when I think of her... and what I want more than anything at this point is just one day where I don't think of her. I'm sure that will come in time. There's no magic wand, and I can't pretend she never existed because that would be ridiculous. So, I wait it out. It gets easier each day. I no longer miss her. I don't look for her at night anymore like I used to. I don't feel what had been the vast emptiness on her side of the bed as anything but some nice open space. I don't get three plates when making dinner. I don't see the time and feel like she should be calling. My time is filled with friends and my husband... and all the love I had before her, combined with the emotional support of new friends I might not be so close to without the end of my relationship with her.

I don't love her anymore. Not on any level. I know I did, once... but that has faded with all that has come to pass, and I have taken back the love I gave her, and it just means more love to give to my husband. He has all that he had before her, and even more than that now.

It gets easier and easier... and someday I will look back and be able to find the good moments that currently elude me because they're rife with suspicion and doubt.

For now, I take it as it comes. I hardly cry about her now. Maybe once a week, and usually they're angry tears, not sad. I don't wonder where she is or what she's doing 95% of the time. Not long ago, I wondered that 100% of the time.

My friend told me today that if she was in my shoes, she wouldn't allow what K did to taint who I am, to take anything away from what I felt... and that was good advice. It is something I will think about when I start to doubt, when I start to feel like I threw a year of my life away. What I felt was real. What I did was real. It matters because of that, regardless of her true feelings - which I doubt even she herself knows.

It is simple, if not easy... it is over, and I am moving on. My marriage remains strong and amazing. I have my best friend wrap his arms around me every night as I go to sleep. I am held in his arms, and protected by his love. I know - without any doubts - that his love is as real as it gets and that he is the true love of my life, and I of his.

So, I allow myself the time to vent, to wallow, and I'm sure, to whine. I get angry, I get sad. I feel every emotion, recognize the truth in it, figure out where it comes from and what to do with it, and I move on. With every revelation, with every step in the process, I grow a little emotionally. I grow as a wife. I become more, somehow, than I already was. I will never be the person I was before her, but I will be a better person because of the shared experience with him. I can't ask for more than that.

Day 73

Air fills my desperate lungs
Not registered by my brain
And fear is leaden on my chest
I cannot make myself believe
That this is not imminent death

Day 72

On the eve of what would have been our one year "virtual wedding" anniversary with Rhy, I am reminded of something. She has nothing real. I have everything I did before her, and so much more.

I told my husband I still have something to celebrate tomorrow, and it is what I celebrate every day. Him. Our love.

And so, continuing my experimentation with poetic forms, I present you the "cinquain," titled "Her Legacy."

****
She left
Ruins behind
But could not take from us
What we have for so long cherished
Pure love

Day 71

No longer am I haunted by memories
of her lips against mine
of the sweetness of her laughter
Or the softness of her hair

She belongs to the wind
and it has wrested from her
the dreams of love she thinks she clings to
And happiness will remain elusive, snatched by each new gust

Day 70

I can finally say I am no longer in love with her. Maybe it took learning she's just not even remotely the person I thought she was. I'm pretty sure she's not the person she thought she was, or thought she wanted to be, either. She is a chameleon. She changes her colors to suit her environment. What she thinks is needed or wanted is what she automatically does, I think without realizing that she is sacrificing her own wants, needs and desires to try to fit into someone else's life or lives.

I'm angry, though. I was who I am with her. I wasn't perfect, and I made mistakes. But I owned my mistakes. Now, she gets to be the person she was when we met her, the one she said she didn't want to be anymore (because she thought that's what we wanted to hear)... and I get to hurt and wonder why? She is playing games. She's 40 years old, nearly 41. I was talking to a friend about her and from what I said, they thought she was young and misguided. I said she is - emotionally speaking. It often felt more like we were her parents than her partners.

I'm past the point where I cry because I miss her. I feel like the person I miss never existed, so why bother crying? But I feel betrayed and hurt... and stupid. I imagine those feelings will linger for some time yet.

I remember her telling me once that if we broke up it would be "months" before she'd be able to move on, but I also know for a fact that she's already moved on. Which is fine, I suppose... I have no right to her anymore and she's single. But it's still a slap in the face. It makes me think what we had was a castle built of sand - something that washes away as easily as it was built, and as completely as if it never existed in the first place.
.
But it was real for me. I know this. I know that she can't take that away from me... no matter what.

So, through the anger and frustration, I cling to that reality - because it's the only one I know for sure existed.

Day 69

Our beloved Arthur... truly the Wonder Dog. He was so smart and so good. He wanted nothing more than to make us happy - and this was true right until the end when, after barely being able to work up the strength to move his head, he got up on his own to take one final ride in the car. Few things made Arthur as happy as a ride in a car. We took him with us on many journeys and in the nine years he was with us, he visited 22 states with us. He had a wanderlust that we shared with him.

He was such a beautiful dog. When he was happy, he smiled. He had this big, open grin. I know it probably sounds silly to some, but when Arthur was really happy, the smile gave it away. That and the thumping, frantically wagging tail, which was known to sweep things off a coffee table more than once. He was so gently and sweet, but particular about the people he loved. He also really liked my friends Morgan and Kathleen, both of whom visited our apartment in NYC and met him there.

There really are no words to accurately convey what a loss this is for us. Nine years could never have been enough, but they were a full and happy nine years. I know we did right by him, and I know he loved us as much as we loved him.

I find myself doubting, or feeling guilty about things. I guess maybe that's normal. Did I do enough? Was I a good enough "mom" to him? Flashy follows me everywhere. I always tried to make sure I still gave Arthur enough attention - because Flash makes sure he gets it, and Arthur was never that pushy. I love them both dearly, for different reasons and for similar ones. I think Arthur knew that I loved him... even after Flashy joined us.

I know it was time... he fought what was probably a brain tumor, and he fought valiantly. My sweet, brave Arthur... I stayed with him at the end, and whispered to him for hours before that. I will always miss him and love him. He was an amazing dog, and we were lucky to share our lives with him.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 
~Dylan Thomas

Arthur, The Wonder Dog
Good night, sweet prince... ~Shakespeare
06.14.00 ~ 04.18.10

Day 68

At its most basic level, "home" is the place you go after school or after work. Ideally, you sleep and eat most meals there. If you add a "y" to home, though, it's something else entirely. It's about a feeling of warmth, safety and welcome. It is knowing you are where you belong.

My childhood "homes" where never homey. I never felt safe or secure and there was not much warmth. In high school, I attended a small, alternative program which quickly felt like home. I was more at ease, more comfortable at school than at home. The teachers and fellow students became my family, and helped to fill a void I'd had my entire childhood.

It was the love and acceptance I found in that supportive environment that taught me what "home" should be, how it should feel. After graduation, I struggled for years to recapture that sense of being where I belonged. It was elusive at best.

Then, in 1999, I met the man who would become my husband. From the very beginning, even before we became "serious," I felt that connection with him. In his arms, I found the peace and solace I'd been seeking for so long. Our first year together wasn't without its dramas. We were so young - only 23 - and we had some growth to do, both as individuals and as a couple. Yet, even when things were challenging, even when faced with breaking up, I found peace with only him. When my heart was breaking, he was there to hold me and talk me through it. He'd just let me cry it out, and when I didn't want to go "home," because it wasn't a home, he let me spend the night so I could be with the one person who could make me feel better...  him.

Eleven years later, he is still my home. It does not matter where we go. We could sleep in the desert in sleeping bags under the stars. We could sleep at a rest stop along a highway. We can live in the country or in the city. No matter where I am, as long as he is beside me, I am at home. I am safe and loved, and I know peace.

The physical structures of homes are - at the end of the day - unimportant. It is people who make a home... and he is mine.

Day 67

Can you love someone who doesn't know herself?
I struggle to convince myself the feelings were
As mistaken as she about what she wants
About who she is

It was her dream that we should be the three
Her vision that led to a fateful journey
Where our lives changed in irrevocable ways
The love found seemed pure and true

Her love was like a puzzle piece
That appeared to fit effortlessly into our lives
She melded into my arms, into my heart
That first night, I knew her to be his and mine

But she was wrong about her dreams of three
Or maybe just wrong about him and I
And the piece she added to our puzzle was
A forced fit that determined our fate from the start

Under a blanket of anguish and anger, my love lingers
The pain of it is physical, a heavy ache in my chest
He tells me without words that he will love me enough
To heal the wounds she left behind... and him I can believe in.

Day 66

Stitch by stitch she wove an intricate tapestry
Her words lies at the end of each thread
Unraveled nearly as quickly as she sewed
What would be the end of a gilded promise
When the glittery strands of silk
Failed to maintain the deception she crafted

Day 65

There are times when the frustration and hurt overwhelm me. I want to say to her, "how could you screw this up so badly?" I know, though, that for all the times I want to ask her that, she's asking herself that doubly so. I know, as hurt as I am and as hard as this is, she's lost us both. I still have him, and he has me - and it will always be this way.

But she is everywhere I look. I find things I bought in world for her and I to share - things we never got to share. Poses, mostly... which means nothing to anyone unfamiliar with the virtual world I live in part of the time. But in that world I am a photographer, and so I buy poses. Most of them are maternity poses (and for those of you reading on facebook, I may put one of these virtual pictures up, so you better understand).

Every time I find one of these things, my heart breaks a little bit more. Just when I think the crushing, aching, scorching pain of "the end" is over, something pops up to make me realize we're not there yet. We still have a lot of her stuff at our house... we're taking it to her soon, but I see it and it half makes me happy that it's still here, that part of her remains. Mostly, though, it's just a brutal reminder of what wasn't meant to be after all.

I have started to believe I will always be in love with her. She's made major mistakes, things that would be nearly impossible to move beyond, and yet I love her anyway. Love is like that... and yet, there comes a time when you have to let go, when self-preservation kicks in. This isn't why the relationship she and I shared ended, but it likely would've ultimately come to that point, and maybe, if I'd let it go that far, it would've been irreparable. Maybe any relationship would've been impossible. Sometimes I wonder if that would've been easier.

I am not polyamorous by nature. I shared my life and my love with her because she just happened... the odds of three people all loving each other are magnificently slim, especially when two of those three people have been together over ten years. And yet, exactly a year ago this time, we were both falling for her, and she for us.

I can't lie and say there haven't been moments when I've thought... if I could go back and do it again, walk away before it became too involved, would I? I even admit that there are times I have thought I would walk away... but not for long. I am not the "walk away" type. I want to experience life. I did too much hiding from it, too much fearing it, as a child. So, when love blossomed amongst the three of us, I fought for it. He told me it couldn't work in the real world, and I simply asked, "why not?" He didn't have an answer. It was a profound moment, and I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing. It was a simple question that changed everything.

This didn't fail because of the three person dynamic. Oh, believe me... it's hard. It's much, much harder than a two person relationship. There are four relationships when you have three. One between each couple formed and one between all three... and each need to be nurtured and cherished. Each need to be special and celebrated. Was I ever jealous? Yeah, of course I was. Was I insecure? Oh, yeah... but I was also willing to battle those emotions because it was so worth it... the love made it worth it. Knowing these two people loved me and would give me the time to work through my issues, and that they'd be there to help me each step of the way is what made the difference.

I definitely made mistakes. All of us did... there's a learning curve, and while she'd done the triad thing before, he and I hadn't. It wasn't always easy, and there were moments when the two of them did nothing wrong, and yet I was deeply hurt. I am who I am... I accept this, and even though I was hurt, I never blamed either of them for that hurt. That was on me. It was my own issue to deal with and accept... and sometimes that simply meant accepting the hurt, and letting myself feel it. I can name a few specific incidents, but they're private, and I share so much of myself already that I am keeping them for me.

I think of these moments sometimes. I admit to feeling a sense of relief that it didn't end because of me - there was a time when it seemed it might, where it seemed maybe I couldn't battle the issues I needed to. It turned out, though, that part of it was being fueled by a medication intended to treat the fibromyalgia pain I suffer from daily. The bitter irony is that the drug was making me crazy - and it's also the only medication that helped the pain. It wasn't worth the emotional trauma it was causing me and those I love, so I went off the medication. That was a pivotal moment, a turning point for me. It was not long after that when I realized I could make it work... I could get through my issues and build a relationship with her.

She's so fragile... and yet, she's also stronger than she realizes, I think. She's been through so much, and to have survived it all is remarkable. It is not surprising that it has left her with some wounds to heal... and as much as I wanted to be the balm that soothed those wounds, I couldn't be. Nor could he. Only she can take the necessary steps to do that, and I hope she does... and I know she wants to.

So, when the anger washes in on a wave of hurt, I remind myself that she is the one who has to figure it all out. Me? I just have to let go... easier said than done, mind you. I need to feel what I am feeling, and I have to learn to be just her friend and not her lover. This isn't an easy transition for either of us, and it's sometimes emotional and I've been unfair at times. When I am hurting, my instinct can be to lash out or to retreat. Sometimes, I imagine, it feels like I'm doing both. I never mean to hurt her, but it happens... and I imagine it will be like that for a while as we shift from being two people in love with each other to two people who love each other and have a solid friendship. I admit to fearing that it's not possible, but I won't give up easily. I know she needs friends right now, maybe especially ones who know her - really know her. I don't want to abandon her, and I don't want to lose her presence in my life entirely. I've already lost so much I will never have back.

Before she first came to Colorado last April, we bought a king sized bed. Our queen was moved downstairs to the guest room, where she spent her final weeks living with us. Maybe it's partly because it was bought with her in mind that I find it so vast now that she is gone. Before she was a part of our lives, I never cared for sleeping in a king when we traveled. Probably because he and I were both "edge" sleepers, and in a king sized bed, this meant we were never anywhere near each other. I always felt kind of lonely in a king, despite being able to reach over and touch him, despite hearing him breathing as he slept. When she entered our lives, I became the "middle" sleeper. He only slept there on weekends, and sometimes not even then. He didn't sleep well in the middle, and she couldn't sleep in the middle for various reasons. So, the middle was my spot, at least five nights a week for six months. I don't think it is surprising that I find her absence so noticeable, even though it's been four months since she stopped sleeping with us regularly, and nearly two months since the final time she spent a night with us. I wonder if I will always miss her, and suspect that on some level, I will... even if it dissipates with time. I will miss, at the very least, all that could've been...

So, I curl up to him... I breathe in his scent, which I love. That smell that is uniquely his... earthy and masculine. A combination of his own natural body chemistry and deodorant, that for eleven years has soothed my shattered nerves. He takes my hand, often while he's asleep, and holds it tightly to his chest... or he wraps around me and holds me fiercely to him, and I feel safe and loved and warm.

For now she sleeps alone, and while she says she doesn't even think about that changing, someday it will. It sometimes makes me feel frustrated, to know that someday she will move on with another woman or man or couple. She will love again - and I want that for her. But I don't think she can see right now that even though she doesn't currently want this, it is something that is a gift. It is something that will allow her to move on in a way I will never get to - or want to. She was a fluke, a flash of lightning... the flutter of butterfly wings. I'd never put myself in a situation again to wind up in a triad. It isn't something that I wanted before her, and without her, after her? I definitely don't want it again.

So, I bask in the knowledge that he is fully mine again... and yes, there is some pain that is assuaged by this realization. Still... if everything were right for her, and it could work - and I knew that were the case? I'd want to do it again. Only with her. But there are no guarantees in life, and she is a long way from being ready to try again - with us or anyone. Time will heal my heart, and his love will make that happen far faster than it otherwise would. I will always miss her, and it will always make me sad when I reflect on what could've been, but with the passage of time, I know that I will dwell far less on that, and remember instead what good we did share. I will remember the beauty, and not the pain... and remembering the beauty will make me smile, instead of making me cry.

I didn't get enough time with her... I'm not sure there could've been "enough," as I know there can't be for him and I. I simply know that the one year we had wasn't enough, and for now, it saddens me. Someday, I will move on from the memories. Someday they won't be soaked with sorrow.

For now I take it as it comes. I channel the emotions into creative work, be it writing or online art and photography. I talk a lot with a dear friend who has also recently gone through a heart-wrenching breakup. We text each other during the day to cheer each other on... and we try to get through each day without tears, which more often than not, for now, I do not manage to succeed in. I had two days in a row last week, though... so it IS getting easier, if still far from easy.

We always told her that "we" didn't need her. We wanted her in our lives, and we wanted to share our love with her... but she wasn't filling some void, she wasn't a desperate means to salvage a failing relationship. It wasn't about exploring our sexual boundaries, even... at the core, it was about love. We wanted to give her the love we had for her, and we wanted the love she had for us.

As much as I miss her, as much as I love her still, I know I do not "need" her. He is the air I breathe. Maybe this is because of the time we've shared, though I believe it's not quite that simple. I cannot fathom life without him, and hope I never, ever have to. He is every corny movie cliche you can think of... he completes me and is my one true thing. I know I can count on him to be loyal, honest and devoted. I know he will love me more with each passing day, just as I will love him more. I believe, that even without her, we'd have gotten to the depths of the love we share today... it would've taken longer, and she gave us the chance to see our love from a unique perspective we otherwise wouldn't have experienced. But we were whole and complete before her, and we are whole and complete now that she has left our love.

I remember this when I feel that anger wash over me. I remember the gifts she gave us, and I remember that as important as she has been to me - to us - we are whole without her, and we have all the love we had before. What we have is something no one could replace, and she never tried to diminish what he and I share. She never wanted to take anything away from us... and although you could say she took herself away from us, that doesn't subtract anything from the equation he and I share. We are what we were before, only better.

So, I hold on to this when the emotions overwhelm me. I know I have an anchor, and I will not be swept away. I do not rant or rage at her like I sometimes want to... and I try very hard to not overwhelm her with my grief - which is exactly what this is right now. I am mourning the loss of something beautiful that I expected to have always, and to deny the grief would get me nowhere. All the same, I don't want to overwhelm either of them with it, and so I try very hard to balance my emotions. It's not always easy, and I sometimes falter, or outright fail to keep myself in check... but I know they love me anyway, and simply want me to be happy, and I know that because of that, I ultimately will be.

Day 64

Deleted for personal reasons...

Day 63

It sort of all started with a song. Two songs, actually. One was silly and fun, but the other one... well, it was raw and emotional and uncertain.

Here are the lyrics to that song:

Rhiannon

Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night
and wouldn't you love to love her?
Takes to the sky like a bird in flight
and who will be her lover?
All your life you've never seen
woman, taken by the wind
Would you stay if she promised you heaven?
Will you ever win?
She is like a cat in the dark
and then she is the darkness
she rules her life like a fine skylark
and when the sky is starless
All your life you've never seen
woman taken by the wind
Would you stay if she promised you heaven?
will you ever win?
Will you ever win?
Rhiannon
Rhiannon
Rhiannon
Rhiannon
She rings like a bell through the night
and wouldn't you love to love her?
She rules her life like a bird in flight
and who will be her lover?
All your life you've never seen
woman taken by the wind
Would you stay if she promised you heaven?
will you ever win?
Will you ever win?
Rhiannon
Rhiannon
Rhiannon
Oooooh
Taken by
Taken by the sky
Taken by
Taken by the sky
Taken by
Taken by the sky
Dreams unwind
Love's a state of mind
Dreams unwind
Love's a state of mind

Fleetwood Mac

I will never forget driving to Arizona with my husband to meet her for the first time. We had a CD of "our songs," and there were already 12 of them by then. Rhiannon was the first song on that CD. He looked and me and said that maybe we would get to be her lovers...

Not very many days later, we had a question to ask her... she made me wait for an answer. That night, he looked at me and said, we won, baby.

Now, not quite a year later, we've lost her to the sky. Our dreams did unwind. If she promised me heaven, I'd never want to leave... but she's in no position to make promises, and so I know I had to let go. The finality of it is sometimes overwhelming. Today was better... quite a bit better, for reasons that have to do with him, of course. He is the light in this darkness I'm wandering through. I know if I follow, I will be just fine... nothing heals me like his love. But I digress...

Tonight we watched American Idol. Didi Benami is probably my favorite contestant, though she's not the most talented (which is impressive, because she's damn good). They said she was doing Fleetwood Mac and before the music started, I knew. I just knew it would be Rhiannon. It was a powerful, poignant, original performance... and I sobbed through most of it. It's the first time I've heard the song since it ended, and as he immediately reached for my hand after she sang the first note, I said to him, "we didn't win."

This is not entirely true, though. Yes, we lost her... and the enormity of that loss, for me, hasn't even really begun to sink in. Yet, when I look back at this year with her, I smile... I cry, too... but there were some amazing moments. Like that first night, when I slept between them, only I barely slept because I was completely in awe of the sensation of being literally surrounded by love. I laid there most of the night, wide awake... with a smile on my face and thoughts of disbelief in my head. There were times when I was sure it was all just an amazing dream.

I am lucky, really... because I found out that I have some seriously amazing and cool friends when I first shared my secret on facebook. It's not the sort of thing that always goes over well. Not only was I revealing to most of them for the first time the fact that I am bisexual... I was also sharing the story of how my husband and I fell in love with this remarkable woman, and how we were opening our hearts - and our marriage - for her. We knew fully well the risk we were taking, but we believed our marriage strong enough to survive that.

We didn't just survive, though... we had our ups and downs, but ultimately, we flourished. Our love became so much more than it ever could've without having shared it with her. At the end of that year, and the end of our romantic relationship with her, he and I both agree that our marriage has never been stronger, and that we love each other so much more than we did a year ago.

In her arms, I experienced things I never imagined possible... not just the physical intimacy, but an emotional intimacy unlike anything I shared before - because I'd never before been in love with a woman. I am taller than her, and somehow that made me feel protective, like I needed to hold her more gently. This particular feeling I find especially hard to translate into words... nothing can quite capture it, but to experience it, I suppose. I have always been protective of my husband, I will defend him if I feel the need, but he doesn't require it. He's quite capable of defending himself. K, though... she is fragile, and raw and beautiful in ways she can't even see. And so I held her gently, but fiercely and I called her my princess... and I lived in a very unusual, but truly amazing fairy tale for a brief moment of time.

So, to say that I (we) lost? That doesn't seem quite fair. What I lost cannot be found again, but what I gained... no one can ever take that away from me, away from either of us. And perhaps it is this sort of thinking that is responsible for my least tearful day since the break... perhaps this is the sort of thinking one does when coming to terms with the finality of a painful decision.

This decision wasn't as simple as "right" or "wrong." It was - for me - the only decision to make. I love both of them far too much to risk causing them anymore hurt than they already had to endure. I wanted to be selfish... but I couldn't be, not in this moment.

I will always love her, and as I've said to her, she will forever be the princess of my heart...

But I live with the King of my heart, and I am loved deeply, and truly by the most amazing man I've ever known - loved more than I would've been without her. So, in the end... I've won. No, not what I'd expected or hoped for, but something unparalleled, something uncomparable.

I am loved, and I am lucky.

Day 62

Removed for personal reasons

Day 61

Grief comes in waves that wash over me. I am pulled down by the strength of this overwhelming pain. I gasp for air... his hands, strong and sure, reach for me and pull me free. We repeat this dance of sorrow again and again. It has only been two days. I (we) have lost so much.

I cry for what was, and for what could've been. I believed, and that belief was shattered.

She will love again, eventually, anew. I do not envy the process she will go through to get there, and yet... I will love her forever. There will be no one new for me.

But I have him, and all we share... the vastness, the beauty. The unadulterated joy found in hours of conversation, or of just being together. So, I do not need to love anew, for I love still, on a level most only dream of experiencing. This love was hers, too... his for me and mine for him... we loved her in this complete way, the only way we know how to love. She has lost that.

In her there is amazing beauty, but like a celebrated sculpture of a civilization long since gone, her beauty is marred by the years. Life hasn't been kind to her, and perhaps what we had to offer her was too much too soon. She does not see the worthiness I have seen... until she believes, there is little that can be done.

Forever is one of those words that's as wonderful as it is vicious. Forever he and I are bound to each other, linked by love that is endless and grows daily. Forever we have parted from her, no longer her lovers...

We are learning a new routine, a new rhythm. The dance has changed suddenly, and the things we shared and spoke are no longer appropriate to share and speak. As we awkwardly move from love to friendship, I can't help but wonder how long it will hurt so badly.

How long will I fight this grief that washes over me, often at unexpected times? I know that no matter how long it takes, he will pull me out time and time again. He will love me, and I will remain whole because of him.

I will always love her, whether or not she remains in our lives. I will always love him, and he will be by my side until the end of time. He is my comfort, my grace... he is all that is good in my life. He is all I've ever needed and more than I deserve.

I hold tightly to him at night, and as my eyes close, I am so glad, so grateful that I took the chance. I did not let fear or my wounded soul interfere, and I fought to keep him when it mattered most. I knew what I had found in him... and there was simply no way I'd ever let it go.

Day 60

A wash of red pain, and I'm twisting in my sleep
Brought to wakefulness by the agony
My eyes meet the relentless light of morning
With disdain and irritation

I turn the water on, and it is as hot as I can bear
As it pulses over tear stained cheeks,
I watch it funnel down the drain
Taking with it the sorrow of the morning

Day 59

The words I find are insignificant
when compared to the emotions I feel
I long to release the frustration, the sorrow, the bittersweet joy
But lack the eloquence to do so

I am made mute by these feelings...
so I drown in them, and find solace in comforting arms
And hope that today is the hardest of this process
That the healing will start soon, and the pain will start to ease

Day 58

Exhaustion is a heavy blanket
Wrapped around my aching body
My mind weary and overwhelmed by
Grief and fear of uncertainties to come
But in this night, he will wrap himself around me
My respite from the harshness of the unknown

Day 57

Tears spill down my cheeks
The winter wind beyond the window
Is bitter as my breaking heart

Day 56

I am experimenting with poetic forms, which I've never done before (aside from the haiku it seems everyone must write at some point in school). This form is called a triolet, and this one is for my beloved husband, whom I could never thank enough.

I am aglow in love's pure light
Which I have found in your embrace
Untouched by even the darkest night
I am aglow in love's pure light
And nothing else could be as right
As your gentle lips upon my face
I am aglow in love's pure light
Which I have found in your embrace

Day 55

We started our relationship with Rhy one year ago today... it has me thinking.

Many couples wouldn't have been strong enough to survive what we tried. Inviting a third into your lives is insane... but love is rarely logical or sane, and love was there for all of us.

A year later, we survived... she lived with us for six months. We broke up with her, and she moved out. We're trying to work on things now, but instead of any of that causing strife for him and I, our marriage is stronger than ever. We appreciate each other more than we ever could've without having had her in our lives. No matter what happens where she and "we" are concerned, this will be the legacy of our relationship with her... it's made him and I stronger. It's made me realize how truly special we are... how rare that sort of love is, and how much it has defined my life, and made me a better person.

And so, today... I post the poems he and I read to each other on our wedding day.

His poem to me:

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

~Pablo Neruda

My poem to him: 

Before you kissed me only winds of heaven
Had kissed me, and the tenderness of rain -
Now you have come, how can I care for kisses
Like theirs again?
I sought the sea, she sent her winds to meet me,
They surged about me singing of the south -
I turned my head away to keep still holy
Your kiss upon my mouth.
And swift sweet rains of shining April weather
Found not my lips where living kisses are;
I bowed my head lest they put out my glory
As rain puts out a star.
I am my love's and he is mine forever,
Sealed with a seal and safe forevermore -
Think you that I could let a beggar enter
Where a king stood before?

~Sara Teasdale


I love you, baby... you are everything I need.

Day 54

My love, you are my life...
It is your breath that fills my lungs
I find my strength in the power of your devotion
When the world crashes down on me,
Your hand on mine rescues me from the pain

I do not know who I'd be without you
Without this love that has gently molded the contours of my existence
Your love surrounds me, shrouds me and I am protected
When the serenity of that protection breaks, you heal me with a touch
With a look of love that time can only intensify

Day 53

I absolutely love the Olympics. I have since I was a child. I remember the 1988 games very vividly, both summer and winter. It's the Winter Games, though, that have always most captivated me.

I've been told that when I was as little as two, if you put me in front of a television with figure skating on the screen, I'd be entranced. I have been aware of this since the age of four when I went to see Ice Capades. My favorite skaters have been Nancy Kerrigan and Michelle Kwan, and if you ask me why, I'll be happy to explain to you how they both were robbed of gold medals at the Olympics.

Today, when I read of Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili's tragic death following a horrific accident in a training run, I cried. His name will be remembered by many for a long, long time... but that is small comfort to those close to him and to any fan of Olympic sports. The danger inherent in luge is one of the things that makes it so exciting to watch, but this was a sobering reminder of how horribly wrong things can go in a sport where you lay on a small sled and speed down a track of ice at 90 mph.

I haven't missed an opening ceremonies in a very long time. The Beijing opening ceremonies where as big as the country hosting those games. Tonight's opening in Vancouver was a stark contrast to that spectacle, and yet no less spectacular. As I watched the Beijing opening ceremonies, I was struck by the vastness, by the number of people. As I watched tonight, I was struck by a sense of modesty, of welcome. China's ceremonies were very keeping with the ways they display national pride, and I would say the same is true of the opening ceremonies tonight in Vancouver.

They kept saying that the goal of the director was to create an intimate setting, and I think this was well achieved. While still grand enough to capture the size of Canada, it was simultaneously representative of the nation's rather small population (in contrast to the US, and to the fact it is the second largest nation in land area). It was like sitting in a large room that is made to feel smaller because of comfortable, oversized furnishings and a huge, welcoming fireplace.

It will be hard to pry me from the television during the next sixteen days. I am captivated by the spirit of the Olympics. I feed on the success of the athletes who work so hard to achieve this dream, and I mourn with those who fail when expected to be victorious. I know the pride that is felt by the athletes who do not go to the Olympics with any expectations other than to do their personal best, and just maybe, in doing so, get a few minutes of recognition for themselves and their countries.

During the Olympics, we get a chance to see sportsmanship, showmanship and sometimes the hubris of athletes. We often see the best of humankind, and fortunately only rarely see the worst. It is easier to forget, while that Olympic flame burns brightly in the sky, that the world is an ugly place, and that humans, to paraphrase Hobbes, are frequently mean, small and brutish.

When countries come together to take their place in Olympic history, we are given the chance to see inside the lives of those who give up so much to pursue their dreams. Considering how few medals are awarded in contrast to how many athletes march during the opening ceremonies, most of them give this up for nothing more than those few seconds they're the focus of the world as they walk in behind their country's proudly waving flag.

The Olympics capture the best of our world. We are given a glimpse into amazing cultures, beautiful landscapes and the lives of those living in  the host nation. We get to feel, as the VANOC CEO John Furlong indicated during his speech tonight, a few moments of the national pride of the host people.

Perhaps, given my affinity for the Games, it is not surprising I studied anthropology as my undergraduate degree. After all, the Olympics are a two week long observation of mankind's highs and lows. I can't wait to experience the amazing moments to follow in the next two weeks.

Day 52

She was not supposed to be, for he and I
were completely one
She came into our lives, an unexpected spring breeze
in February's cold darkness
With a light like none I'd known before,
she filled our hearts with the pureness of new love

Through her eyes, we became more completely one
Though now with hearts opened to hers
We became more than we could have without her

She came to us, as spring turned to summer
But bleak October, with its barren trees
took her from us
In the wake of that loss, I find my love adrift

I cling to him for comfort, for solace
And find it, as always, unfailing and strong
I am not alone, despite my loss
Our love is more because of hers

Still, I ache for a future that glimmers like
that cold February day we met
Her kisses on my lips are bittersweet
Filled with promise, but also the past we cannot recover

Day 51

His arms around my body
Pull me tightly to him
I nuzzle my face in the warmth of his neck
The fragrance that is uniquely his
Washes over me and I know peace

His touch... so soft, so sure
Still as thrilling as that first night
Emotions replace the newness
I soar beneath his fingertips

Fused with him, I know completion
His breath on my neck as we doze
Takes me to a sweet, safe place
Where all my dreams are realized

Day 50

I've been thinking lately of Pandora... and no, I do not mean the planet in Avatar (which I have not seen). I mean the first mortal woman according to Greek mythology. A brief history regarding Pandora. Her name means "all gifted" because after Zeus created her, each god gave her a gift. She was modeled on Aphrodite, so she was beautiful beyond words. She was given charm and grace to match her beauty. She was gifted in spinning and music and dance. She was told by the god of the sea she could never drown. Zeus created Pandora as part of a revenge plot, which, when you think about it, means she didn't have a lot of hope of things going according to plan. She was to marry the brother of Prometheus, whom had angered Zeus when he gave the earth the gift of fire. As a wedding gift, Hermes gave Pandora a beautiful, ornate jar... and promptly told her she must never open it, under any circumstances. Pandora assured him she would not, but then, just to make her life a bit more challenging, Hera, Zeus's wife, gave her curiosity (Hera was kind of a bitch).

Pandora fought the urge. She tried very hard to keep her word, but curiosity is a wicked temptress, and Pandora was taunted by the very sight of the jar. She hid it, hoping it would be easier out of sight, and then, finally, her resolve cracked. The urge to know what was in the jar, overwhelmed her.

She dug it out of hiding, and opened it... and a foul smell was released. Into the air were released every horror known to man. Greed, theft, pestilence, cruelty, jealousy, famine... and on and on.

Then, after a time, something... good... emerged. Hope.

I first read the Pandora myth as a freshman in high school. I was a lonely, awkward girl. I had plenty of friends, but few of them attended the same school... and some were verboten - deemed a "bad influence." When I read about Pandora, two things struck me. One was that the myth says "jar" and not "box." Two, was that on some level I identified with Pandora. Oh, I didn't have the beauty or the talent... but I knew what it was like to allow curiosity to make you do things that you later regretted. I also knew that "hope" was invaluable. In those days, hope was all I had.

When I attended the private high school that would radically change my life forever, I was pleasantly surprised and found it fitting that it was on Hope Street. This is something I have never forgotten, because it was at that school that I found hope again, after having lost it for a while.

I have a need to know. Like Pandora - and her Christian equivalent Eve - this thirst for knowledge has sometimes caused me a great amount of trouble. I am tempted by curiosity, by a burning thirst for more information. In many ways, this is a healthy quality. However, it can also lead to events that cause me pain, insecurity, jealousy, recrimination and sorrow.

Still, I somehow am usually able to find the hope in these situations. Usually, I can see that there is a chance for growth, an opportunity for me to become a more complete person and a better wife and girlfriend. I see the chance for learning, and I am unable to turn from that, even in my worst pain.

So, when life is full of the horrors the ancient Greeks told us Pandora is responsible for releasing, I remember that Pandora also was responsible for giving hope. I cannot fault her, this legendary first woman, for desperately needing to know. She was given all the gifts of the gods, after all... and when you look at the gods, they were deeply flawed. They were selfish and jealous and vengeful. They were beautiful and creative and passionate. Despite being the "perfect" woman, Pandora was really just as ordinary as any woman for whom curiosity has bested. She was just as extraordinary as the gods who created her.

I am not one to let go of hope easily. I suppose, when possessed with a great deal of curiosity, that is a good trait to have. I suppose, when living in a world as cruel and inexplicably unfair as ours, hope is the only thing to push us forward.

Life perfect would be boring, anyway... so as long as there is hope, bring on the challenges. I will take that hope and find a way to conquer them, or make them tools to use to my advantage. I will fight, and I will fail... but I will never give up.

Day 49 (sort of a cheat)

As I sit here about to take Day 3 of my new birth control pill, I am taunted by the irony that requires me to take them when I never could get pregnant. It reminded me of a poem I wrote last year.

Flash Of Red

I am ready to let go
To give up on the dream
Of holding our newborn son or daughter
I no longer imagine her face
Would his son have his eyes and my hair?
I don’t dream of these things…
Anymore

I want to move on
To different, if not better, dreams
But memories rush in
Painful splashes of red
And tell me I’m not really a woman,
Just a facsimile of one

My hell is this excruciating reminder
Of my failure to give him both of us
My soul as torn to shreds as my insides,
I’m barren like the trees of winter
My mind as twisted as their stark, black limbs

My heart repeatedly crushed,
Just as it beats again
The healing process endless
The pain a relentless rush of red

Day 48

I am overwhelmed. I want to write, but words do not come easily.

I am job hunting... and it sucks. I have an interview for a job I've had and do not want to have again.

But I need the job. Life requires money, annoying though it is.

*sigh*

And so, my writing for today is simply this blurb about how I want to write but seem to not have the focus.

Day 47

It's been a while. My head has been too full, and writing would've caused a meltdown I wasn't prepared to handle.

Until today.

My husband works from home. Today he napped during his lunch hour. When his nap was almost over, I went in to snuggle him. I do not know why my mind went where it did... but suddenly, I flashed back to February 2007.

It was Valentine's Day week... I was about to start a new pack of birth control pills. He and I were sitting at the table. I can't remember the words that were said. I think there were few. It was more about gestures. He took the pack of pills from me. He said something about maybe we should just throw those pills out.

I was a few weeks from 31. We'd been married almost three years, and together for eight... and I'd been hearing my biological clock ticking since I was 25 - when I didn't even actually want a kid. I was utterly ecstatic. He said, "Happy Valentine's Day."

I'd found out I had PCOS in 2004, just a few short months after we were married. I was crushed. All I ever dreamed of was having a family. I wanted to stay at home with my kids, and he was 100% supportive of that. It was what he wanted, too. I figured maybe someday I'd go to graduate school and get a teaching degree, but I wanted to be a hands on mom.

I shouldn't have been so hopeful. Not when I knew about the PCOS. Still, the reproductive endocrinologist in Manhattan had told me my best odds of getting pregnant would be in those first few cycles off the Pill. I did all things you're supposed to do. Bought the books. Bought the basal thermometer. Took my temp. Peed on ovulation sticks.

And I ovulated. I had a "perfect" 28 day cycle. I did not, however, get pregnant.

I remember sitting at my birthday dinner badly wanting a margarita, but being unwilling to drink even one because I *might* be pregnant. The weekend it became pretty clear I wasn't, my husband took to Black Hawk to distract me. We hadn't been yet, and we wanted to see what it was like. We gambled and I ordered a sloe gin fizz, which was exciting because no one ever knows how to make that drink.

I need the distraction desperately. A few days later, when my fears were confirmed with a bright splash of red, I was devastated. I moved on, though, thinking... next cycle. That was a bust, too. By May, I knew. I knew that it wasn't going to happen.

I tried to convince myself I was wrong. I'd met a lot of awesome women on a site called Soul Cysters. I read with excitement the stories of each of their cycles, and cried with them when they didn't get pregnant. I cried with them - and for me - when they did. I knew it happened.

I went on Clomid. I did four cycles. With each passing one, I had more and more pain. And still no BFP (big fat positive - as in pregnancy test). The pain wasn't just emotional. It was physical. It was excruciating.

After two years, I forced myself to realize that it wasn't going to happen. Unable to tolerate another crushing disappointment - and the brutal pain that would come with it - I went to my doctor and asked to go back on the Pill. It regulated my cycles again... but it did nothing for the pain. I knew what the pain was. At 25, my aunt had a complete hysterectomy because of severe endometriosis. At 50, the told my mother she should have one for the same reason. I'd been hit with a double whammy. Not only did I have PCOS... I had endometriosis. Which meant all that time and emotional energy on fertility treatments (not to mention money on books, devices, etc), was for naught. I was unlikely to ever have gotten pregnant anyway, even without the PCOS.

Ironically, one of the best "treatments" for endo is pregnancy. In my case, with the PCOS and the endometrial issues, I was not likely to ever have gotten there. I was unwilling to go through expensive IVF (and they may not have been willing to do it anyway) or IUI. It was pointless.

For the past six months, I've been getting a shot of Lupron monthly. It's a medication that induces medical menopause. It's used to help combat endometriosis. I had thought I'd be getting a Mirena IUD at the end, but now my gynocologist is saying he thinks birth control pills would be a better course of action. Which makes me laugh bitterly. I don't need birth control pills... and yet I do. My alternative is a painful, agonizing one - on many levels.

Maybe I thought of that day nearly three years ago because I am seeing the doctor next week to figure out where to go from here in treating the endometriosis. I don't know. All I know is, I was struck by an overwhelming pain. It was that kick in the stomach you hear people talking about. It just plain hurt.

Tonight one of my best friend's is about to become an aunt. She knows the pain I am feeling very well, as she has dealt with infertility for almost ten years. I will be an aunt in March or April, but given the relationship between my mother and I and my sister and I, it is unlikely that I will ever know my nephew. It makes me feel horrible to say that there's a part of me that is grateful I don't have to be there for his arrival. Of course, she's the most immature 18 year-old on the planet and has never held a job and will barely graduate from high school, so there are many, many reasons for mixed emotions where her pregnancy is concerned.

But I digress. I've been watching my friend's sister-in-law update her status from the hospital... and I am SO happy for her and her husband. It's weird to think that my best friend's "little" brother is about to be a daddy, but they are happy, settled and they deserve this joy. I know that when my friend holds her new little niece she will cry tears of bitter happiness... her heart will break for what isn't hers, but will be full of love and joy for her brother and his wife and for the new little girl in her life that she'll spoil as she would her own (and maybe a bit more!).

I started to cry reading the status updates, and was back in that moment this afternoon. I've let go of the dream. When does the pain go away? When do I stop being thrown back in time to that moment of hope, that minute when my dreams were right there, nearly tangible? I don't know how long this hurts. I suspect forever. I suspect it is a wound that will partially heal repeatedly, with a thicker scab every time, and yet one that can suddenly be torn off without warning.

I don't think I will ever be healed from the loss of this dream. I think that no matter how much time passes, it will haunt me always. I will never be free of the ghost of what could've been, and no matter how much they love me, only the friends who have been through this can know the anguish. Only they can know the gut-wrenching pain that strikes as suddenly as a viper.

When this pain washes over me, I feel alone in a way I cannot describe, and need, more than ever, the arms of those who love me.

I am adrift... and need an anchor only love can provide.