Writer's note: I was so hurt & so upset when I wrote this, that it's actually taken me a week and a half to figure out what happened here - and I almost wanted to then delete this post ... but have instead decided to leave it up and simply add ... "Hello"
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I can name at least one dear friend - I'll call him 'Mr Maps' - would tell me not to write this post ... but, ya know what, now??? Its my blog! So here it goes ... sad to say, I guess I'll have to get into a dissertation (AKA Edith Bunker story ;) ) for this to make sense why it's upsetting me so ...
The year my beloved daddy died, I was very grateful to have 'Dr Belgian' in my corner ... because ... in addition to losing him (bad enough, that!), I lost a number of friends, too: some died (some unexpectedly and too early, a theme in my life, but nevertheless, hard stuff!); some turned their backs on me - one a friend of 19 years who was supposed to have co-conducted my father's funeral but didn't, who gave me a reason - seeing a flag in my life that I seemed to be ignoring - but in all the time since then, has not reconnected or given me 'the WHOLE story' .... an on-again, off-again, friend of 13 years, who was nevertheless dedicated to staying plugged-in with my dad even when we weren't talking ourselves, and who did so via email after I dragged my grieving self all the way to her house for two special days I just didn't feel like celebrating ... my fellow coffee-lover, my daughter, who had finally come back into my life, praise God! answered prayers! and who then went squirrely ... and at the end of going round and round with all these huge losses - including the loss of my childhood home, because I couldn't afford to pay the taxes and I refused to rent out rooms to Craigslist strangers if I couldn't trust a blood relative!, a friend of double-digit years, who helped me relocate above and beyond, and then - completely turned her back on me and stopped talking. In a city and state where I had never been and knew only one other soul. My gut said to recycle myself and my two doggys back to our home state - because it happened so soon, I wasn't even unloaded or unpacked - but I felt 'maybe God wants me here ...???' and so I stayed for 3.5 years and while there were a couple of truly God things about living there -- I should have listened to my gut, because at the end I was so stuck I could hardly put food inside the kitchen cabinets. And, speaking of listening - have still not heard from that friend and have no idea why she did what she did, either. This was the friend who sent me a package faithfully every Friday for years, with all sorts of wonderful things like doggy treats, address labels she printed out herself, newsworthy items, and etc., and you see I wasn't going to miss that, was I?!, because after all! we would be living and seeing each other all the time! - weren't we?!!
In the time I've lived here now, my life has been quieter ... the phonograph record of grief and loss has pretty much stopped spinning, except for my beloved CoCo, and I've had time to. just. be. to. just. heal. And I knew that it would work this way, here, that I would become 'an adaptable bird', because I've lived here previously, and returned for the beauty of the people and the beauty of the area ...
A year ago, someone else moved here, too .... someone I didn't know, but who became a very, very cherished friend. Oh, there were so many things to like about this person! From a surprise postcard and remembering me with newspapers when he traveled, to traveling to the places I'm now able to access because of his photographs, to shared interests - even to the unshared interests .. because this person isn't a clone. And there are areas we are wildly divurgent on. And that was even something that made them a good friend! because we would hit those spots -- smile -- say 'we agree to disagree!' -- and change the subject. No dramarama, which my sensitive self truly can't take any more of, and wants to put in the ancient history file, thank you! so - how truly welcome that all was!
Yes, past tense.
The day that the tragedy in Nice happened, we were sitting outside on a lovely summer evening with a mutual friend ... and, naturally, the event came up in conversation. To the best of my recollection, we weren't even at a point of nearing any wildly divurgent viewpoints - we were simply discussing the facts, 'Joe Friday' ... and then --
He did something he had NEVER done before: he cursed at me in a foreign language (that I actually caught a few words of, and it wasn't 'Happy Birthday') and stormed away, back into his apartment ;- Said mutual friend was gobsmacked, and she continues to remain bewildered, and slightly hurt (its a sensitive time of year for her - one of her sons died at 49 years old at this time, last year), and dropping broad hints that even I can't miss, about - where is he?! - meaning - don't you two have an email connection?!!
I was - astonished ... but honestly didn't think what I couldn't translate meant "the end". So ... I waited. An email. A knock at my door. Something .... Mr. Maps at one point advised me to 'make the first move', and I couldn't! It was like with what happened with Nan, and with Pat -- what the hell happened?! I don't have a CLUE! Where's Vanna White so I can at least buy a vowel?!!
As this has gone on, I've tried -- I've tried to pray. I've tried to let it go. I've tried talking about it (in briefer forms) to those whom I confide in. I've tried not to feel like it's the days of yore again, when that terrible awful year happened that had Dad and Yolanda and Donna and Nan and Brianne and Sue and Pat and moving, but the tsunami has knocked me sideways, just the same. I can't put a fastener over my heart, put on a happy face, and go on with everything - I've never been the poker-faced gal, anyway. I'm no Sigourney Weaver fan, but just walking through my own apartment and seeing little things from this person threatens to rip my heart through my stomach, like in the movie 'The Alien' ... so I've been cleaning other things, and burying myself with my cats and my computer and my coffee and my cigarettes.
Wondering how I arrived at this place again.
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