All my life I’ve interpreted the world through 4 mediums: cooking, writing, music, and athletics. Thankfully, I’ve channeled a variety of emotions, people, places and things into them and almost always come out the better for it.
Part of this includes me “hearing” my loved ones through music, and “feeling” them through writing. The same goes for events and experiences, whether they are challenging or joyful.
Everything, everyone becomes a song in my head and phrase in my heart. Maybe that sounds better the other way around, but that’s what just came out of my fingers, so I’ll leave it for now. Now these songs, these words, they’re private and very meaningful to me, so I don’t share, much less give them away. Which is why this revelation will be a surprise to any of my close friends who are reading this. I’m sure they’ve had no idea.
What everyone DOES know is, the last few months have taken quite a bit out of me.
What with losing a job end of January, pneumonia in March, an accident in mid April and now the sudden death of my beautiful German Shepherd last week, you’d think (hope) That’s That. Got all of the bad stuff done, gone, out of the way now, just have to get through the residual tying up of loose ends and finito.
Unfortunately, it’s not.
Because while all of this was going on, I was also handling an exhausting (though significant) relationship that took a header, making a rapid and steady downhill climb into a never-ending limbo…
To say I idolized the man, outstaying my welcome while putting up with far too much B.S. is an understatement.
This is not meant in my defense, but just like everything else in my life, he had a song.
It wasn’t mine at all. Not one single piece of it. Whenever he was an a**hole, I’d hear this and just move through, telling myself his struggles were much deeper than mine and that he deserved to be loved too, no matter what he’d done.
But here and now, I take responsibility for being cloudy headed and letting myself become “less important”. I’m the reason I didn’t protect myself well enough or quickly enough. I’m the one who ran myself into the ground. But the rest of it? That’s on him.
One morning a couple weeks ago, I sat at the table making a to do list in my daily calendar. All of a sudden I found myself writing the following:
“I give him precious pieces, which he casually deposits in the junk pile on the counter for the housekeeper to throw away with the trash on Fridays.”
I got up to pack my things, and as I began surveying the house to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind he said, “Don’t worry if you leave something here, you’ll be back tomorrow.”
But I knew I wouldn’t.