There is this strong desire to put things in a narrative. One narrative goes, and it is all true:
Feb of 09, John borrows my ring. Maybe he does this intentionally because he is thinking about proposing.
Early March of 09, John and I have a fight.
The following week: John's mother dies and the firm he works for goes out of business.
John moves back to Indiana, where he grew up. His entire life, he's yearned for a relationship with his family, and his mother has always ostracized him. Her death allows him a chance to develop that relationship. (John told me that he loved his sister, but he was too damaged to know how to love fully. He reached out to his siblings a couple of times and was blown off every time, except his one sister.)
He keeps my ring the entire time. Did he know he had it? He needed to learn to love his family. I know what. But maybe, he knew it too. And maybe he kept my ring and wanted to come back when he was ready. That's the narrative I want. Something that makes me, deep down, a lovable human being. Who lost someone she loved, but will maybe find someone else again someday.
And the other narrative is more real, and so much more messy.
4 days before he has a heart attack, he writes (in a series of several e-mails):
I never got wrapped up in what we didn't have because I was so pleased with what we did. ...
Honestly Constance, it's not a revelation that you had feelings on the line -- but the scale?! The scope?! You kept that from me?! I got a hell of a lot of composed small talk and not much of the steam beneath the surface.? I introduce the topic one more time:? Candor!? Why now?? What was the problem?? I was open to you.? Why didn't you talk to me? ...
My restraint was for your protection far more than it was for my own. I'm a bit of a rough ride and you're a bit of a bit of a delicate flower. I often caught myself thinking you might emerge from your chrysalis at some point, which is why I kept (and I suppose in fairness keep) an eye on you. Two when I can spare them....
I was *always* waiting for you to overcome just one more insecurity, just one more fear, just one more complex, just one more (to my mind) flimsy or imagined obstacle, which were it not for the respect I had (and have) for you, I would have just wrecking-balled through like the tissue paper I perceived them to be. But not at your expense...
You often acted as if you were waiting for some sort of cosmic permission to simply trust me and trust yourself.
Yes, I know you had the desire, and I hope you don't think I spent so much time with you because I was bored and needed something to do. I hope, and want to believe, that you know I was investing in the possibility of a future. But as above, desire to have something is not the same thing as capability. You think (yes, yes a thousand times yes, I HEARD YOU) I was rejecting you, but really (as I said sincerely over and over) I was *waiting*....
Every time you attempted to throw away your dignity, I caught it and gave it back to you gently and with reverence....
I love how fresh and alive this all feels (not kidding). You know, you can tell a real friend when you flip the calendar a few times and the pick up the conversation right
where we left it off. ;)Proof we've both been thinking of each other. ;)
And I wrote him back:
I guess I was waiting for some indication that you wanted to be in a romantic relationship with me. A kiss, I suppose. You were waiting for me to cash checks as much as I was waiting for you.
I wish you had taken a wrecking ball through the tissue.
Ah, well.
Tears.
Tissue.
Xanax.
Bed.
And he wrote me back: "Wuss. ;)"
And then he died. But what if he hadn't died? I thought we were going to continue this. Somehow, he is still the only man I could ever imagine spending the rest of my life with. Of course, he's dead. I know that. I just can't quite accept it.
And what does this say about me? Is it bizzarre that I couldn't trust a man that never kissed me really wanted to be in a romantic relationship with me? He always said we were dating. But he never kissed me. Never once. Is that a failing on my part? I kissed him once, and he turned it into a platonic kiss. I would have married him, if he'd asked. It was the only reason I loaned him my ring (of course). I don't understand.
And my heart is breaking open, once again. I don't know how I can have this many tears to shed. I wish some spirit of John would come and kiss me on the eyes and tell me he loved me. But I have yet to see evidence of an afterlife or a ghost. I wish I could sleep one night is his arms. Oh, who am I kidding. I wanted all of eternity with him.
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