Entry #53: Rituals

We all have little rituals surrounding many of the things we do on a daily basis.

Annie and I were no exception. Over time, we developed certain rituals that also became special times which we shared with each other, that had profound meanings beyond the ritual.

One of our favorite rituals involved rain storms. Depending upon the time of year and the weather, we had two distinct rituals that we embraced whenever we found ourselves together in rainy circumstances.

If the weather, and also the rain was warm as it usually is in the summertime, we would throw on some not so special clothes and take long walks in the rain. If we were near a forest, it would be even better. Nothing beats walking in the rain in the forest holding hands with the person you love, listening to the birds and other animals as they enjoy the rain and the free baths.

However, if the weather and the rain was cold, we had an entirely different ritual that we would enjoy if we could take the day off from our routines.

On cold, rainy days, we would throw off our clothes and snuggle together in bed for most of the day. We would take turns telling each other about our dreams of how our lives would progress together, and take turns pleasuring each other in every way we could think of. There were many days we never left the bed until it was dark and hunger forced us from our little nest.

So, this week there are several storms hitting us here on the west coast. These are cold weather storms with a lot of rain and wind. Not the kind of storms you can walk around in and enjoy.

In the intervening years since I lost Annie, I always try to go to the beach if it is warm out and the rain is warm, so I could sit in the sand, and stare out west as far as I could see. Further than I could ever see, is where Annie now lies.

But, this week, the storms are cold and unwelcoming. I left my bed so I could write this today, because there is no Annie for me to tell stories to or to pleasure, and the bed is a cold and unpleasant place for me now on cold stormy days.

It would be wonderful to find another person to share these storms with for a few hours. But…it is doubtful that will happen.

My memories of my time with Annie will have to suffice.

Entry #52: Words have consequences

“Words have consequences”…Albert Marrin

This is a quote that we all hear often, and yet, can it determine how we feel and react to life events?

For the last twelve years and ten months, I have been living with despair, grief, and depression over losing Annie. These things have been my daily companions, and over time, I grew to depend upon them in order to allow myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Everything else in my life was pushed aside in order for me to embrace these three friends.

Over the years, I have started and discarded several attempts at journaling my experience through writing, until I began to chronicle it all on this blog. So far, this one has staying power. I have shared it with no one who I actually know in person, for fear of their judgement and the inevitable hateful comments which I experienced first hand when Annie and I were together.

No one…until I met my friend “A”. I met her last year over another project, and something just clicked in my mind. I could see in her eyes, a person who not only became my muse in writing, but appeared to be someone I could trust with my blog. So it was that I gave her the link and she began to read it.

This past week, she finished reading it. I have to say I was afraid at what her comments to me might be upon finishing it. My fears were unfounded. She did not judge me, nor make any disparaging comments. She had nothing but empathy and positive things to say about both the writing and our friendship. Whew, that was a relief!

But, then she hit me with three words that changed everything. She said, “I love you”.

Not in a romantic sense, but in being the person I am. She could see me!

I love her! For the first time in so many years, I have found someone who does not judge me for who I loved. Someone who is interested in the things that I write and have to say. Someone who is also willing to reveal her stories to me as well.

Over the ensuing few days, everything changed. I have slept better. My three friends…grief, despair and depression appear to have abandoned me, at least for now.

Yet, without them, what am I to do? What am I to write about now? I will never stop writing about Annie, but could this be the beginning of something new in journaling my days and experiences? Will I actually have anything more to say? Would anyone care or read my musings if I did?

I don’t yet have an answer to those questions.

Three little words have such an impact. While I have stayed away due to covid, I am hoping I can see her again in the next few weeks to discuss her observations in person. To be able to actually look into her eyes and see her…

Time will tell if I have more to say.

Entry #51: The Closed Door

Over the years since Annie died, it was always in the back of my mind that I would travel to Thailand so that I could visit her final resting place. At times, I was almost obsessed with making the trip, but always found an excuse not to go. Admittedly, I was afraid for my own safety if I had to confront the reality of the place. All I hoped to accomplish was to be able to sit beside her and tell her of my love and all the ways I felt that I had failed in keeping her safe.

Not so long ago, I received an email notifying me that Annie’s mother had passed. I knew she was older and in poor health, but my denial of the fact that she would not live forever was in full force. We had not communicated much over the years, but when we did, she always managed to explain in her poor English how happy she was that Annie had found me.

My own indecision has now managed to accomplish what I could not mentally manage. With Annie’s mother now gone, there is no one left for me to contact, make any type of arrangements regarding a trip, and I will forever not know where she rests.

The open door that would allow me closure has now slammed shut forever and it was due to my own lack of courage. While I am still incapable of putting this all behind me, and moving forward to what, I don’t even know, I now face the reality of yet another thing that I have failed Annie with.

I was never indecisive when she was with me, yet, without her I am paralyzed with fear, darkness and an overwhelming dread of all the things I now think I should have done differently.

It is said that when one door closes, another opens. I do not see it that way. As I search through the dark corners of my mind for one remaining door for escape, I face the reality that there might not ever be another open door.

I may be stuck in this place for eternity.

Entry #50: Broken

Admitting to yourself that you are a fundamentally broken person is a hard reality to accept. Hiding that fact from others is so much easier.

When Annie died, I became a broken person. In eight short weeks, the thirteenth anniversary of her death will be upon me, and if anything, I am more broken than when she first died. I simply cannot get beyond the fact that she is gone forever.

With the pandemic raging, there is less and less human contact with others, and that works to my benefit. Without in person meetings, I no longer have to put on a smiling face and deny my grief to others by appearing as a normal person. Normal is long gone for me.

Only one other human, (my muse “A”) who I know personally, understands my broken status, and even she does not know the whole of it, since she has never read the entirety of this blog. There is no one else to confide these facts in, as I am distrustful of most others, due to being judged over and over again for who I decided to love when Annie and I were planning out our lives together. I know in today’s world there is more acceptance of who Annie was, but it is not good enough for me. There still remains too much hate in this world for her and what we had together.

I often debate with myself about moving somewhere new, and attempting to start over again, but in my heart, I know it will not make any difference. While new scenery may be enjoyable, and moving to a place where no one knows me would be refreshing, nothing in my grief will change. I will just drag my baggage wherever I wander.

I accept my broken status. No…I actually revel in it. For, were I to explore therapy or medication to conquer my darkness and grief and move on, my memories of Annie may diminish if those things were to be resolved. I can never allow those memories to fade away, as they are the most intimate part of me left.

The world is full of broken people, and I am just one of them. I may one day meet someone who would take the time to ask the right questions, and pierce my wall of silence, but I don’t hold out much hope. I will carry on in my own broken way, reliving all these memories Annie and I made together as long as I keep breathing.