All that Brought us Here

We are now the sum of all that brought us here-

            the long, lonely road that somehow kept us both single,

                        waiting for each other.

Every step, every triumph, every loss, every disappointing detour-

            became a piece of our souls that would one day

                        only better connect us.

If only we could have known then that we each were out there-

            waiting for one another-- it would have been

                        so much easier.

If only our paths had crossed sooner--so many more days together-

            but then, it wouldn’t be what it is now,

                        and now is all I ever wanted.

Here with you-the paths diverged, lives intertwined, hearts together-

            all that brought us here-- it’s who we are now.

                        The sum, the beginning, and everything in between…us.

Happy 2nd Anniversary to my husband, best friend, soulmate, and partner in crime, Shea. I love you.

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Worth this Love

Several months ago, I entered an essay contest. I found out about it close to the deadline, but I felt good about my entry. I know thousands of people also felt good about theirs. The winners have not been formally announced, but they have been notified.

So, I didn't win, but thought I would share my entry anyway. One really good thing about contests and submissions, no matter the outcome, it gets me writing and makes me finish things. All good. The subject of the essay was this: When did you first understand the meaning of love? Maybe you were a child, witnessing a generous act by your father or mother. Maybe the lesson came later, as you grappled with the challenges of being a friend, a spouse, or a parent yourself. Whatever made you understand love—and yourself—better, tell us about it.

As I always do in the aftermath, I see a million things I could have done differently now, maybe made it better or different...but it is what it is. I feel like I write a lot on this blog about my husband and my joy in finding love when I had given up. I always share my story, not to brag or gloat, but to hopefully give someone out there hope. I lived a long time without it, and that is a very hard and lonely place to be. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

So, here is my essay, and my dose of hope out there to anyone who needs it.

Worth This Love

I thought I had found it one hundred times before. It was the whisper of my mother’s voice in her moments of denial. It was my father’s brief flashes of noticing me in his clouded mind. It was the boy I loved who reminded me so much…of him. The one who came after and the next, all the same pain—just in a different package. Each time I quaked with relief—finally, I have found it. Finally, I know love. And then, the bottom would fall out. My mother would retreat to her cocoon, my father would lose sight of me, the boys, one after the other, would suddenly become clear to me as false, no longer shadows of pain, but vibrant in their own colors of deceit, betrayal, and abuse.

Each time I felt more alone in the aftermath, farther away from love than before, and I slowly saw my faith in its existence erode. Maybe it was all a fairytale. Fiction. Or maybe I wasn’t good enough. Maybe the problem was with me.

I remember so well the day I gave up. Sitting in my apartment I told myself what I believed to be my destiny: I would always be alone. It seemed out of control—beyond my ability to change. Each attempt at love pulled me deeper into a pit that was so hard to crawl out of. It seemed simple: leave the pit behind, face the facts, go it alone. Forget the childhood that didn’t make sense, the alcoholic father and lost mother, stop trying to be the light of someone’s life when my bulb had obviously burned out. Find a way to make a living supporting myself and hopefully needing no one.
 

And that’s just what I did. Something changed in me that day. My career took off as I focused on nothing else. Moving up the corporate ladder, I felt the pit not only far behind me, but filled. I no longer felt in danger of slipping, falling, hitting bottom and trying to crawl out. The ground behind me was solid. I chattered with girlfriends about longing for love, wishing for dates, but I knew I was just painting a picture of normal for them. I invested no hope for a first kiss, love at first sight, or even a comfortable arrangement. I wasn’t playing it safe. I truly believed I was too flawed to participate. Too imperfect, too damaged, too broken to be worthy of love at all.
 

I crisscrossed the country on business trips, gathering compliments, raises in salary without asking, recommendations, and glowing reviews. It was the air I breathed. Each new company event I created was my first date, my relationship, my happiness. I was at the top of my game, making more money than I could have ever imagined. I would stare at my paycheck—every paycheck-- in disbelief. Staring back at me was my worth. More than I had ever been worth before.

And I cried myself to sleep every night. For years and years and years.

The cracks came when the economy tumbled. There were thousands of people just like me—with the glowing reviews, the ability, a successful track record. Jobs were cut, layoffs became commonplace. There weren’t enough jobs even for the best and the brightest. I was unemployed. No large paycheck. No worth.

Everything came crashing down. Friends were concerned. My phone went unanswered. Why keep it connected? Unemployment scarcely paid any of my bills. I awoke to eviction notices taped to my door. Large bold letters telling the world what I had known all along.

The pit opened up again—this time so fast and with such force that I was almost swallowed whole.

The therapist’s couch seemed a farce in the beginning. A place to sit and hear the endless excuses for my failure, to be told all that I wasn’t. I sat staring for the first visits. Refusing to talk, in a standoff with the supposed professional across the room. I had given up. I didn’t need to be saved. I wasn’t worth being saved.

After a few visits, silence turned to tears, words rose from pain I hadn’t let through. I didn’t want to go back, but there I was, dealing with everything that had brought me here. For the first time saying the words. For the first time hearing it was not my fault. For the first time, beginning to believe it.

I had lost everything. That was when I found myself.

My therapist stayed two steps ahead and lit the path for me. My path. The path back to a life without fearing an unannounced sink hole. A life of believing that I had value, I had worth, I was more than the sum of my mistakes, more than the pain I had suffered.

It was a slow, steady climb. Some days were brighter than others. Some days the therapist’s couch was the only place I felt safe.
 

The world was different to me now. I looked again at my paycheck in disbelief, this time questioning how I could survive on so little. My life was scraped together, but whole. My life was my own, not a company’s and not dependent on the next glowing review. Work was work. Home was home. The presence of my dog Bear, a new addition, who never would have fit into my career-based life before, was a comfort. A true to my heart, not laced with guilt, comfort.

My friendships were deeper, richer, more authentic. I was almost someone they had never met, with the comfort of years of shared memories, middle school photos, and bridesmaid’s gowns. I had time to be the friend I always wanted to be, and to truly know the joy of returned phone calls and emails—not checking on me, not asking when I would ever be in town, not just a required note on my birthday. Real engagement in my life, and renewing bonds that thankfully outlasted my descent.

One friend suggested a date. Someone we both knew. Someone we had grown up with. Faint memories of junior high classes, passing in the halls. No flicker of romance then, barely an acquaintance. Definitely not the stuff of chick flicks or fairy tales.

Even more the reason to go. No real chance of anything. Just a date- maybe a new friendship. Maybe nothing. Probably nothing.

The night was normal and electric. Unfamiliar and personal. Unlike any other date or wish or figment of my imagination from my past. Nothing fiery or predestined. Just a night.

Then another night, followed by more. What I thought I had found one hundred times before, in another lifetime, when I felt I wasn’t worthy or deserving…was becoming real. I was 40 years old. I had never married, never been close, never thought it could happen. Even now, wasn’t it too late?

This love wasn’t something I created; it wasn’t something I tried to be for someone else. It wasn’t the conjured moments of something I wanted so badly. He didn’t remind me of him…at all. It wasn’t the same pain. It wasn’t a perfect Hollywood set up. It just was.

I slipped into a level of comfort I had never known. Not for one moment of my life before this love was I ever completely myself. How sad, but how beautiful at the same time. I felt myself trusting completely for the first time, knowing the freedom that is saying I love you, and knowing the words returned have meaning and are not just spoken.

My husband Shea was my classmate in 7^th grade, sitting half of the alphabet away from me in Language Arts class. He is the person who taught me the meaning of love, its definition in strained moments, its beauty in trusting the unknown. He is the person who makes me laugh until I am gasping for air, who knows the secrets of my childhood and my innocent wishes for unattainable dreams. He knows the emotions behind my indiscernible facial expressions—and when a smile is masking a painful memory. He has given me a new definition of love, far away from how I had defined it before. It is knowing there is a tomorrow, brighter than the present day- even with whatever struggles we face. It is a life without the fear of betrayal, the truth always between us, and the belief that the most flawed parts and quirks I posses are endlessly endearing. This love is not regretting one moment of the life behind me because it led me here, to this place, this instant, to this dance of life I am living that never leaves one second taken for granted. Something I tried for so long to define has been explained, written for me, given to me as a gift at the age of 40.
I have found my worth, I have found my value.
I have finally found love.

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A Peanut Butter Pie in Memory of Mikey

I have written before about my somewhat irrational fears about losing my husband Shea. There are times when I sit and worry and even cross the line to obsessing about it—which I know is ridiculous. I don’t worry about him leaving me, I worry about losing him to illness, an accident, whatever, I have quite a list of possible ways that I try to keep at bay.

I think part of it is that I waited so long to find this love, and I can’t stand the thoughts of losing this man who is my soul mate, my best friend, and the best thing that has ever happened to me. The other part of it is just life and the constant stories I read about people losing loved ones in an instant- without warning- and it reminds me how fragile and unfair life can be.

Exhibit A is the story behind this food writer’s request. Jennifer Perillo is asking those who read her blog to make her husband’s favorite Peanut Butter pie in memory of him. Mikey Perillo died this past Sunday from a sudden, unexpected heart attack that robbed Jennifer of the chance to say goodbye or make his favorite dessert one last time. In Jennifer’s own words:

“I kept telling myself I would make it for him tomorrow. Time has suddenly stood still, though, and I'm waiting to wake up and learn to live a new kind of normal. For those asking what they can do to help my healing process, make a peanut butter pie this Friday and share it with someone you love. Then hug them like there's no tomorrow because today is the only guarantee we can count on.”

This video on her blog of him dancing with his daughter brought me to tears this morning.

So, today I am going to the grocery store to buy condensed milk, peanut butter, cream cheese, and all the other things I need to make this pie. And I will hold my husband a little closer and give thanks for another day with him.

Hug those you love, and visit Jennifer’s blog and send her some love, and jot down the recipe and make this peanut butter pie for Mikey.

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The Choice

From the time I could sit up and hold a baby doll, I wanted to be a mom. It was almost a fantasy for me, a place I would go to escape and dream about my husband, my home, my children…all seemingly a certainty for my future.

For that feeling of certainty, I blame all those Disney books and their princesses bound by destiny, staring at me with their perfect blue eyes from the pages of my nighttime storybooks. Even though I knew they were stories—fairytales and fantasy—during that time in the early 70’s, as a little girl, you were basically told that it would all happen. The only things that seemed like a fantasy or fiction were the ball gowns sparkling with stars from the nighttime sky, pieced together by singing mice and a fairy godmother’s magic. The rest seemed plausible and promised: there was one man out there just waiting to meet you. The only thing you didn’t know was the date and time. But, I was assured by my mother that it would happen before I reached the age of 20.

I banked on that. I was so afraid of not finding it, that I tried to turn every toad I kissed into a prince. I wanted the wait to be over. I wanted to start my fairytale. I wanted to be loved and to love someone forever.

It was hard as all my girlfriends got married, and I was literally the only one in my circle of friends who was single. I became godmother to some of my friends kids, a volunteer babysitter, and hopefully the cool, fun visiting friend who got down on the floor or in the sandbox and really played for hours, honoring all requests for silly songs and faces. I loved picking out birthday gifts and clothes in kids stores I would never otherwise get to frequent. As the years passed, I worried and stressed about my biological clock ticking away, and even looked into having a child on my own.

The reality was, during all those years I longed to be a mom, I was not ready at all. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to raise a child (who does until you have one?) or that I wasn’t making enough money, or the other normal concerns. I was still struggling with the depression that had plagued me most of my adult life. Looking back, although I genuinely wanted to be a mom, I think a lot of the emptiness and worry I felt was more about wanting so badly to be loved unconditionally.

A few years ago, I gave up on the whole picture- the whole fantasy. I knew there would be no husband, no kids, no house with the picket fence. There were days I imagined myself as the crazy lady who lived on the corner shaking her broom at passersby on the street, with a hundred cats scattering underfoot. It didn’t seem like a big stretch from where I was at the time, and that in itself was frightening.

Instead, I did find my prince charming—although about 20 years later than I had planned. When I first met Shea, we had an immediate click that went beyond chemistry and attraction. In odd ways, we had gone down similar paths with our careers and life plans. We had both never been married, and we both were extremely close to a small group of friends, and were truly involved in their lives and the lives of their children. After a few dates, and watching Shea with some of those kids, I turned to mush. His obvious ease and love of these kids and the way he so effortlessly drew them to him was magnetic. I remember thinking—he is going to want to have children. Perfect, right?

Without talking to him, (it was still early in our relationship), I started thinking about a possible future with him. I knew he would want kids, and I suddenly found I wasn’t so sure that I did. It shocked me. When unexpectedly faced with the real prospect of being a mom- I had doubts. I think everyone does, but this time it was nagging and deeper than the general worries. I just didn’t feel that pull to do it. It wasn’t about not loving kids, or not seeing the amazing love and beauty they brought to my friend’s lives. I saw it, and at times, I envied it. I knew in my heart that if it was 10 years earlier, I would probably feel differently. I also knew that I worried about any part of my father’s parenting becoming part of mine. Even though I know better, it has always worried me that somewhere down the line as a mother, I would suddenly morph into my father. Or even 1/100^th of my father. And I wouldn’t want to do that to anyone else, especially a child.

But, falling in love can also make you believe in the things the other person wants enough to want them yourself.

So as Shea and I got closer, and when we both seemed to know this was serious, we started talking about a future. During the time leading up to this conversation, I had readied myself for Shea to say he wanted children. And when he did, I was going to be ready to do that. I would not deny him his one chance to have children and a family, and I knew that he would be a wonderful father, and I would adore being a mom to his kids.

Then, a funny thing happened. Shea felt exactly the same way I did. Exactly. Neither one of us was unsure--we didn’t want kids. We both would sacrifice those feelings for the other if it was truly important, but we didn’t have to. That moment probably cemented things with both of us—there was a very real sense of us being right for each other- meant to be.

When I was younger, I always viewed people that said they didn’t want children as almost soulless. They had to be callous, selfish people to say that and believe it. Some people do make that choice because they truly don’t like kids, and that is hard for me to understand.

But now I know there is an in-between. Shea and I both love children-- adore them. We both reach out to kids when we are out and about and love watching them toddle on the beach or seeing teenagers at the local attractions, embarrassed by their parents. We love all of it. We just know that the timing isn’t good for us, and that age has definitely played a role in that decision. We look forward to living in a place that the kids we love can come and stay as they get older- and we can be a part of their lives. Maybe even the cool aunt and uncle that you can talk to about anything.

It’s hard sometimes as we are talking to friends and family and they all have automatically assumed we will be having kids. They are in shock when we share our decision, and everyone questions if we are sure—won’t we regret it? I understand that thinking because of who Shea and I are. But I hate almost feeling guilty about it. I don’t want anyone to judge us or think we are selfish for a decision we know is right for us and our life.

I can’t deny that in those fantasies of mine as I grew up are a little sad to let go of. I always imagined that moment in the hospital delivery room, my husband holding my hand as we brought a life we created into the world. I don’t think there is anything more magic than that moment; and I have mourned a little knowing we won’t have it. But, realistically, I know that the moments and years after that aren’t what we want.

There are fairytales that come true without magic wands, glass slippers, and certain pathways. For me, it has definitely been an “off the beaten path” kind of story. More like Cinderella leaving her bad situation—then backpacking through the countryside, finding odd jobs and then really finding herself along the way. Then, at age 40, she finds her perfect soulmate and settles down near the beach, nowhere near a castle. More like home.

Dear Disney- that’s a happy ending too.

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Dreams do come true...

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Name Change

I have a new last name. It is bizarre after 41 years to say the name, write the name, know that it is mine. It is a gift.

I was married last Saturday, November 13 in a small church near our home. If I had handpicked one day out of the year to tie the knot, I could not have picked a better one. The weather was absolutely perfect, around seventy degrees, and if there was a cloud in the sky, I didn’t see it.

Without a doubt, I had given up on this dream ever coming true. About 3 years ago, after a combination of heartbreak, bad luck, and just life, I remember writing in my journal: I am on my own for good, I know it. I have to face that.

I didn’t have some hope off in the distance, I wasn’t writing those words to be dramatic. It was my truth. I knew it in my heart. 

I am writing these words now because I want so badly to give hope to someone out there who feels the way I did. And I want to be so clear that I was in such a low place, as low as one can get. I just remember seeing emails and stories of friends and strangers finding love, bliss, happiness, and it seemed like another species on another planet to me. Depression had an unshakable hold on me, had grabbed me with its tentacles, and pulled me into the shadows and gave me no hope of breaking free. Depression had found me as a result of many things—my childhood, failed relationships, career let downs, and my own self esteem.

Today, my life has changed. It wasn’t just because someone walked into my life and flipped a switch. It was a process of healing, therapy, and friends and family circling the wagons for me. It was a long look at myself and my life, and somehow letting love in—cracking the door enough to give my life another chance.

It was not easy. I can honestly say that the last four years of my life were the hardest because as an adult, I had to face down demons, fears, and patterns that had grown accustomed to living with me. Going through everything through the years was excruciating, but trying to relive the worst parts, dissect them, and then make sense and heal was at times worse. There were things I kept shut away, and it was easier temporarily not to put them out on the table.

My husband (I still can’t get used to saying that!) and I do not have a perfect, flawless relationship. We argue, disagree and sometimes annoy each other to pieces. But we do have an honest respect for one another. And we truly like each other as we are- flaws and all. I have never ever been in a relationship where I was myself. I couldn’t be for one reason or another. (all signs that you are in the wrong relationship). It has alarmed me how at ease I am around him, how I catch myself being totally silly or just effortlessly free.

I have realized that I have settled in the past in so many ways, and I beg of anyone reading this—man or woman—don’t settle. Not in any way, not in one cell of your being. And we all know when we are settling. That inner voice tells us. We just ignore it because we think we don’t deserve better or can’t do better. And you can. 

I have cried happy tears every day since the wedding. I have stopped and relived the happy moments of our wedding a hundred times. One of the greatest joys for me was seeing all the people who circled the wagons for me when I needed it, there with us to witness the fruits of their labor. These were the people who refused to give up on me, who saw the hope of something I couldn’t see. These are the people that built a pathway for me to take to the place I am today.

All the decisions Shea (my husband!) and I made about the wedding were the right ones. We fretted over tradition, family pain, our own beliefs, and of course, all the food and event decisions. I can’t count the number of times we have looked at each other since Saturday and said—it was all so perfect.

So many women- my friends and fellow bloggers and women who read my blog- wrote to me before the wedding and told me to try and slow down on the day of the ceremony, to drink it all in. Several women said they couldn’t remember a lot of the day- it was a blur.

I talked to Shea about this a few days before the wedding. We made a pledge to each other that we would savor the ceremony, really take care to be in the moment and drown out everything else.

As I followed my bridesmaids to the back of the aisle, I took a long deep breath. I looked around at the women who would lead me into the sanctuary. I caught a glimpse of the blue sky as we walked by the open back door of the church. And I watched my dear friends wink and wish me well as they headed down the aisle. I will never forget those moments, or the moment I stood at the back of the aisle and saw Shea’s face just as he saw me for the first moment. We never lost eye contact for a second as I walked down the aisle to him. 

It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

It was the beginning of my new life. 

My new life with a new name.

~~We had an amazing photographer at our wedding, the photos won't be ready for a bit. For those of you that asked and want to see them, I will post a link when they are ready. Thank you to everyone for the sweet wishes for our wedding!~~

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Circle of Love

In the last few months, with the wedding date ahead of us, my fiancé and I have been tumbling through a bittersweet time. There has been so much shared joy- first between the two of us. Both of us are 40 (ok, I just turned 41), and neither of us has ever been married. Although it may not be too uncommon these days for folks to wait to get married—or even not to get married at all—for us, it was never not wanting to get married—it was not having found the right person. We both feel such a sense of gratitude in having finally found each other. It was a long wait, and both of us doubted we would ever have this bond and this love in our lives.

The other joy has been sharing this time with family and friends, feeling the love and happiness pour over us. So many of our friends have been wishing this happiness for each of us—and to see them so happy for us is as touching as anything I have encountered. Our close friends knew how badly each of us wanted this happiness—this love--this wedding—this life. To share it with people who have been along with us for our journeys before this—all the heartbreaks, the career highs, the life losses—it is all so special. At our wedding shower last month, we looked around the room at all the people there, remembering all the milestones we have shared with so many. All the weddings, showers, birthdays, holidays, family additions…the list goes on. These people made our lives whole up until we met each other, and now the intermingling of everyone just makes everything complete.

The bittersweet explanation is the turmoil we have been dealing with that only a few close friends know about. We were betrayed and hurt by people we trusted…so deeply that I cannot find words to write. We continue to try and tiptoe through the daily reminders of this pain, a pain no couple should ever face in the days leading to their wedding. I have watched my fiancé hurt in a way I cannot completely heal, and I have shared his pain in a way I have never shared anything else with anyone. I worried for weeks that our wedding would be tarnished by this pain. I worried that these memories would somehow cast a shadow on everything—darken the day somehow.

Instead, we have found this new strength…knowing how good we are for each other, knowing how strong we are. We have had rough moments but have never for one second doubted one another. This test of us has almost, just almost been a blessing.

I had never doubted anything about the man I am marrying- his morals, his heart, his honesty, his simple goodness and inability to be false. But, even knowing that in my heart is strengthened by seeing it in action. This time of trouble has shown me who he is and who we are. It has let me know how we will handle a crisis. We are not perfect, not without flaws or the ability to make mistakes. But, in the end, in times that are as tough as these moments have been with the worst possible timing, I know that we can swim our way through together, picking up for each other where one leaves off, saving each other in the process.

If it is possible, I will walk down the aisle more sure than I could have imagined that I am headed in the right direction, into the arms of my best friend, my soulmate, my happiness. 

I am finally at the point in my life that I believe I deserve it. 

We both do.

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Danny & Annie

Danny & Annie from StoryCorps on Vimeo.

I am so behind with my writing. This is my weekend to write, and I am beginning by taking a little shortcut to share something I came across via Twitter this morning. I am not crazy about the animation style of this, but the story behind it is just beautiful. if you don't know about NPR's StoryCorps, you need to check it out. I cannot count the number of mornings on my way to work that I would have to pull the car over when listening to some of these stories. Just beautiful stuff.

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Being Seen

If anyone had told me a year ago I would be madly in love and heading into the next chapter of my life with such excitement and confidence, I would have told them they were crazy. I might have even been rude about it. But, here I am, now taking a second look at my cynical view of fate—as too many things keep working out and proving me wrong. At times I feel as if there are pieces of a large puzzle being rearranged, sliding together, locking into place, slowly forming the picture of my life as it is supposed to be—maybe as it was always supposed to be.

Saying that I have struggled in the past is a gross understatement. From this lofty spot I am in now, I look back and wonder how I could have made some of the choices I have made, how I couldn’t see what was so clearly bad for me—or a mistake about to happen. It is hard for me to fully remember the fog I was in for awhile and how it hindered more than just my vision but also my ability to reason, to make the right choices, to put myself first. It is difficult to remember how cloudy it was when you are standing under a clear blue sky on a sunny day. But, I do remember.

Some of the questions I have asked myself in quiet moments are – How could I have ever been with someone who treated me the way “x” did (insert any one of a list of ex-boyfriends)? How could I have made THAT choice? What was I thinking? I am fully aware that I struggle with my self esteem –I have for a long time. And I hold onto the adage that you can’t truly love someone else until you love yourself.

I had done a great deal of healing before meeting my current boyfriend, and was at a turning point in my life as far as understanding the need to surround myself with positive people who cared about me. But, I had only begun to see myself the way I needed to. I am 40 years old, and the sad fact is—until this relationship, I don’t think I have been loved—truly loved-- for myself for everything that I am—all the good and bad, the in-between, the things no one else knows. It is sad in that sense that it took this long, but it is beautiful in the sense that at the age of 40, there is a rebirth in my life—something brand new that some people never get in a lifetime.

In looking back at all my errors in judgment, missteps and wrong turns, I realize more than ever that it was how I saw myself that was the guiding force. This reflection in the mirror was created by my childhood, and my own experiences, and also by the people I let into my life—and all my insecurities led me to settling for less in relationships and friendships—basically, not valuing myself.

The thing is, it is a downward spiral. If you already doubt yourself, and let someone in your life who won’t value you either, you are deeper in the pit than before. It can be a succession of trips down a painful path, until you are so far gone that finding your way back is almost too long a journey to face. And I have been in that spot. That very spot when there seems to be no map to guide where you are headed, no compass to steer you.

I would never have believed I could be in this place now, not so long after being so lost.

Being seen is a tricky thing. Truly being seen for who you are without any games, masks, or hidden agendas is scary and beautiful all at once. It is disarming and comforting at the same time. I realize over the years all the things I have tried to hide that now I don’t worry about. I am truly myself in all the hours of the day.

I have had to share things I didn’t want to, let go of habits for protecting myself, and believe in tomorrow when it used to be all I could do to get through today. It has not been easy. At the heart of all this is trust-which has been such a foreign concept for me. It is not only trust that this person won’t betray me, but also trust that when I bare my soul, he will still be there accepting me after I tell him some long-held secret. I feel as if I am holding my breath each time I do—taking this huge leap and praying to land safely.

So far, so good. I think the bravest thing we can do is love completely. Letting go and believing in the best of all things. Even as I am in it, I can’t write the equation or pass along the secret. I can’t point anyone else in the right direction.

But I can tell you that there is a way back from the darkest path. You don’t need a compass, you don’t need a map. You need to believe that at the end of it all, with each step... you are worth it.

The real you is worth being seen.

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He Remained a Gentleman to the End

I have tried to keep the darkness I am experiencing right now from becoming too raw and broken in my posts here and on Facebook and the variety of other places I write these days. It is difficult, as the times I write most freely about anything are ironically the times when I am struggling. I think it is my way of coping, some way of letting the pain find a window to escape through.

So tonight, I was searching through a poetry site I had never been to before. I love to search and find poetry that mirrors my journey or pain, and I am often astonished at how someone else's words seem to capture the struggle in my heart and mind. I came upon the following piece:

Drawing from Life

by Reginald Shepherd

Look: I am building absence
out of this room's air, I'm reading suppositions into
summer's script snarled on a varnished floor.
It looks like a man. That knot's his hand
waving good-bye, that stippled stripe of grain's
the stacked-up vertebrae of his turned back.
Small birds (sparrows or finches, or perhaps)
are cluttering the trees with blackened ornaments (burning
in the remnant light of August eight o'clock), and noises
I can't hear. Chirring there, chittering. The window's closed.

I am assembling a lack of sound
in this locked box, and dotting all the i's
these floating motes present (my composition), I am not lonely
for the palpable world (midges I dap hands for
and kill), shivering into darkness underwater outside glass:
what's left of light sinking from zero down to less,
cobalt down to zaffer, deeper to purple-black
where divers drown. The swimming landscape's
all mistake (one world that shuts air into
my submerged terrarium), and I am luck.

I was so taken with this piece, the flowing prose, the tangle of words I read and think I could never put together... I wanted to find more by this poet. I searched through the site and Google and found a few other beautiful pieces, and was so excited to be discovering a talent I didn't know about, and looking forward to reading more of his work as he wrote more to add to his already extensive library.

Then, I saw a link for his blog. I was so happy, as I looked forward to reading his thoughts on the craft, as well as just getting to know him better. I clicked on the link for his blog, and began to read the most recent entry. I literally gasped a little out loud.

I suppose I should have publicized these a bit earlier, but I don't always have it completely together lately. In any case, there have been a number of publications of Reginald's poetry and essays since his death last fall.

Since his death last fall. How? Why? As I read more, I found that the writer of the posts was Reginald's partner and love, Robert Philen. Reading Robert's entries, one can almost see him struggling with every word. It seems hard for him to write the word death. His pain is real. Reginald died after a battle with cancer. He was only six years older than I am now.

The blog contains more of Reginald's work, and he was astonishingly talented. I still marvel at his words and the way he turns an overflow of descriptives into something so simple and striking. Just beautiful. As I read more of his blog tonight, it was so sad to see his last entry, detailing his current hospital stay, and then two weeks later, a post from Robert about his death.

What a loss to not know years more of his work. But what a find tonight to be discovering him. I am off to read more. I realized that I can still go and learn about his thoughts on writing, and just learn more about him as a person. He has two years of blog entries left behind as a gift.

The title of this post is a quote from a nurse who cared for Reginald near the end of his battle with cancer. I thought it was such a beautiful thing to say.

I leave you with one more piece of his work, and below it, the link to his blog.

YOU, THEREFORE

For Robert Philen

You are like me, you will die too, but not today:

you, incommensurate, therefore the hours shine:

if I say to you “To you I say,” you have not been

set to music, or broadcast live on the ghost

radio, may never be an oil painting or

Old Master’s charcoal sketch:

you area concordance of person, number, voice,

and place, strawberries spread through your name

as if it were budding shrubs, how you remind me

of some spring, the waters as cool and clear

(late rain clings to your leaves, shaken by light wind),

which is where you occur in grassy moonlight:

and you are a lily, an aster, white trilliumor viburnum, by all rights mine, white star

in the meadow sky, the snow still arriving

from its earthwards journeys, here where there is

no snow (I dreamed the snow was you,when there was snow), you are my right,

have come to be my night (your body takes on

the dimensions of sleep, the shape of sleep

becomes you): and you fall from the sky

with several flowers, words spill from your mouth

in waves, your lips taste like the sea, salt-sweet (trees

and seas have flown away, I call it

loving you): home is nowhere, therefore you,

a kind of dwell and welcome, song after all,

and free of any eden we can name

To visit Reginald's blog, click here.

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Something Old, Something True

If you notice on the right hand side of my blog, under the heading All Things Paris, there is a link to my favorite blogspot, the Paris Daily Photo. The title is self explanatory. A wonderful frenchman named Eric posts a new picture from the city of Paris each day with a little explanation about the subject matter. It is my little "Paris fix" each day, and I love to check in and see what he will show us next.
I post comments sometimes, and in doing so, I have noticed some of the other faithful readers (and bloggers) that comment. I will sometimes click over to their blogs and so on and so on. It has been a fun way to learn about places and people and new things.
I happened upon a blog this way called Things UK, written by a woman named Lynn. (she actually has a few blogs). But, one of her entries in particular touched me, and I emailed her and asked her if I could post it here, because I thought you would all enjoy this as much as I did.
Lately, I have watched so many of my friends struggle with broken hearts, the challenge of marriage--and making it work, and I have to tell you, there are days when I think-- Are there true love stories anymore? Not that any of my friends have failed, and that is the worst part. I see all these wonderful, amazing, unique individuals, and it all seems so hard.
Following is the post from Lynn's blog. The story tells itself. And it is nice to know that even though the stories are few and far between, that there are some love stories out there that have stood the test of time. It gives me hope, and to my friends out there struggling, all of whom I love, I hope you read this, and that it gives you hope, too, wherever your own path takes you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poetry after 65 years? Must be Good!





Recently my father sat down and wrote a poem to my mother about their lives. They lived in Whetstone and Finchley in north London. I'm so touched by it and hope you will enjoy it too. He's a romantic old thing.

-----------------------------------


I remember, yes, I remember
The summer of forty two
The sirens loud
The guns and bombs
In Britain's struggle
To win through

And at that time
A change of schools
Sent me to Holly Park
So strict, but fair
No place to suffer fools

Then in these momentous days
A happening so great
To shake my youthful ways

I remember, yes, I remember
The girl that I saw there
In class 1a, the same as I
I tried hard not to stare

Her hair so dark and neat
With eyes more brown than brown
I glimpsed her in her seat

And even then
My heartstring woke
And stirred within my mind

Her name was Joyce
And plain to see
She was the girl for me

We went through school
And not a class apart
Until our time was through

Fourteen, the year to leave
Our working life to start

I remember, yes, I remember
The winter of forty five
Her schooldays done
Six months in front of mine

This must be it!
She’s gone
And I’d not sense to ask
To meet again
And could it be soon?

New ways for us so young
Find jobs and learn a trade
A year slips by
Sad thoughts of dates not made

I remember, yes, I remember
The winter of forty six
While working in my office
A new girl is employed

I know this girl!
It’s Joyce’s friend
From Holly Park, our school!

I ask her how Joyce is
The answer “very well”
I say “and will you please
Ask if we can meet?”

The answer relayed back to me
It really is a yes!

The meet’s arranged
It’s in our lunch hour
We’ll meet on her way home

Ten minutes by bus
And I am there

I know where she will walk
My tie is straight
Excitement tense
But can I sensibly talk?

I see her then
It’s her, and no mistake
Her hair so dark
Eyes sparkling brown

The schoolgirl that I knew
No longer was in view
But here, grown up
And very lovely too

We talked and walked
To where she lived
Time short
Can’t be late
I had to catch my bus

Must go, but then,
I have just made the date!

I remember, yes, I remember
The evening of our first date
Cold January twenty nine
I’m early (can not be late)
I wait outside the Odeon
Who’s cold? Not me! I’m fine

The bus, a one-two-five
Comes rushing to a stop
I see her getting off and then
I greet her with a smile

Two 'two and nines'
The price I pay
The best seats in the house
And would she like some chocs?
The ones we both will always share
Our favourite ‘Dairy Box’

The film show over now
We stand for ‘God Save the King’
It’s time to take her home
We queue together at the stop
The wind blows freezing cold

I wrap my coat around us both
I say, to keep her warm
But truth to own
It brings us close
So I can look
Into her eyes so brown

I remember, yes, I remember
The Autumn of nineteen fifty
Three happy years we’ve spent
Together all the while
And now it’s National Service time
My call-up soon is sent

Two years to serve
It’s in the RAF
How long to be apart? -It’s not so bad
As I had thought

I often can get home
On many a Weekend Pass

Our letters to each other
Pass, daily in the post
Mine sometimes do contain
A short but loving rhyme
And hers to me the same
But sometimes also this
End with a lipstick kiss

My National Service days now done
I’m back in Civvie Street
So good to see her all the time
To make our plans complete

Ten years have now gone by
Since the summer of forty two
When first I saw her face
Then was it luck?
Or maybe fate?
That winter of forty six

I remember, yes, I remember
The summer of fifty three
The Queen and Coronation Day
But no, much more than that!
In June that year our wedding
At All Saint’s, Oakleigh Road

I turn and look to see her
Coming down the Aisle
She’s on her Father’s arm

Her dress pure white
And darker shows her hair
Her eyes of course are shining brown
But finely covered by her veil
Then smiles that both we share

She says “I will! So softly
Then, and in my turn
I say that “I will” too

A fine reception
Enjoyed by all
Was in the Springfield Hall
Then came the time
For Bride and Groom to leave
The music, food and wine

Her Mother came and held my hand
And said “look after her”
She knew, of course, I would
I said “You know I will”
The best way that I could

I remember, yes, I remember
The spring of fifty seven
In March that year
Was born, and to our joy,
A healthy baby Boy

Two years on
Then April fifty nine
To put us in a whirl
A lovely baby Girl

I remember, yes, I remember
All the years since then
A further forty eight have passed

So can it really be?
Sixty years and five
Since that summer of forty two
When first we met in school

Two images have stayed
Fixed always in my mind
Of Joyce at Holly Park School
Sitting at her desk

And see her then so clear
Stepping from the bus
And knowing that from there
It’ll be not You or Me
But Us

-Roland Ede 2007

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