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