The Real Me

The Real Me

Friday, June 1, 2012


The house where I used to live is being sold.  I haven't lived there myself in over two years, but it still feels like a significant transition.  For during the past two years, more than I even realized, parts of me remained.

I was asked to paint over a mural that I'd left behind.  I did that.  And thought I had closure. But not really.  I was asked to remove items that were mine that I hadn't realized were still there.  I did that.  And thought I had closure. But not really.  I found myself being required to go back again and again and again, and every time that I pulled out of the driveway, I thought I had closure.  But not really.

So I took matters into my own hands, and asked for an opportunity for one last walk through on the very last day before the real estate closure, and was told no.  Others were suspicious that I had an ulterior motive.  That I was ... I don't even know what.  Making a play to win him back?  Wow.  Talk about misunderstanding.

Yes, I will admit to an uncontrolled desire.  But it's not what you think.  Or what he thinks.  Or what she thinks.  This desire, this thing that compels me to do things often misunderstood, is a desire to find peace even in the midst of less than peaceful, unresolved situations.

I have lost friends, and family, without warning, as so many others have.  Jay, in the car accident in 1977. My own father, by his own hand, in 1989.  No time to heal.  No time to say what should have been said.  No time to share one last loving, kind thought, to leave that relationship in a healthy place.

And I have both experienced and witnessed others wounded by harsh words.  Things that can't be taken back.  "Oh, I was just joking.  Where's your sense of humor?"  It doesn't change the sting of what's been said.  It doesn't heal the wounds.

We have a choice, every time that we open our mouth, how we use our words.  And my intention, to the best of my ability, is to offer hope.   And love.  And peace.  I'm not always successful.  And I'm sometimes painfully misunderstood.  But I try.  And try again.

My request denied, I went there on my own, in my imagination.  To that house where I lived.  And loved.  And raised my beautiful daughter for ten oh so important years of her life, of our lives.   I walked through each room.  I remembered something lovely that had happened there.  And another something.  And another something.  And I smiled.  And shed a few tears.

And then, in my imagination, I closed the door, one last time.  And pulled out of the driveway.  And found that closure that I needed.

A new family will live there soon.  And they will create their own new lovely memories.  I wish them deepest blessings for love, and joy, and peace.

And I utter a quiet prayer for the same for him.  And for her.  And for me.

Yes, really.

1 comment:

Mimi said...

And in that odd way that music has of showing up with the right piece at just the right time... while I was proofing that last blog entry, this song started to play on my iTunes, randomly... so I searched for a YouTube video that I could link, and found this. A gorgeous piece of video and art combined... thank you to whoever put it together! Tracy Chapman's song "At This Point in My Life."