Wallowing Week, Pt 2

I wish I had a sense of John's presence. Something. A dream. Something. But I don't. Just an aching loss. The agnostic believes that's because this is our only shot at this life. But then I rewatch Truly Madly Deeply for the six thousandth time, and I wonder if maybe the dead don't stay away because they know we need time to grieve and move on. Or maybe the dead have way too much cool stuff and earth is boring. But I don't think so. I wish I didn't believe that. But I do.

I'm trying to think what John would want. For me and from me. Not that I can know, but I can, of course, reread correspondence and guess.

Of course, he'd want to not be dead.

But here's what I know:

He didn't date anyone after me. And he kept my ring. And he said he kept an eye (two when he could spare them) on me.

The e-mail listing my flaws--he ended by saying:

Hmmm. Should I hit send? She's sounding pretty rugged, actually, which pleases me a great deal. I don't want to put cracks in her shell, but then again, I do want to be acknowledged as legitimately entitled to her respect. And I hope, hope hope she can tell the part I do *not* respect detracts not one molecule from the part I do. That believing myself to have some insight into her true character means that none of this bullshit is necessary. That if she has one place where she can truly be herself, "flaws and all," as it were, she should *do* so.

Because either I will a) snap down on a persona like a rat trap, or b) attempt, in my way, to deal with it gracefully by not dealing with it all.

Hmmmmmmm. Thinking, thinking....

So, I think I get it. He knew that I don't handle criticism well. Especially from men that I love. And his style of criticism tends to be quite blunt. And he thought I'd wilt from the criticism. And maybe I would have. I don't know.

I think if I hadn't felt like I was auditioning for him, always, I would have been more robust. But not with the criticism. I have always needed criticism to be loving and gentle and constructive. Maybe, I could have learned to handle it better. To respond with "well, this is why I do that." But I don't know. Maybe when he said: "I'm a bit of a rough ride and you're a bit of a delicate flower...You know the principal reason I held back was my worry that you were a wuss." Maybe he meant it. Maybe he was right. Maybe when he said:

See, I could never do that (tear down the obstacles that he saw separating us), because that would put me at odds with one of your halves.

I could only reach one of them by damaging the other.

Only in my restraint could you know that I cared. I would not embrace one half at the cost of the other. I would not embrace the strong, successful, entirely legitimate but incomplete Esquire Chatterley, eligible bachelorette, world traveler, talented, glib, heroic... and leave innocent, vulnerable, delicate Constance out in the cold. I would not embrace the girl who longs for a Sir to keep her safe and love her and show disrespect to the illustrious Esquire Chatterley.

Sadly, the only way I could show that I cared for you was by not giving either half what it wanted, because I, perhaps uniquely, perceive and care very much for *both*.

Maybe he was wiser than I was. Certainly he could have taken me and I would have loved him with every bit I had. But maybe the Esquire Chatterley would have shattered. I don't know whether it would have been a little for a little while or a lot for a long while.

Certainly, my relationship with the ex shattered one side at the expense of the other.