Tsunami Across My Heart (12 page)

I tried to leave thoughts of Eric behind yet again. Even though I didn’t see him again, we still talked on the phone, or wrote. If I didn’t initiate contact with Eric, and I rarely did, and three silent weeks passed from me, then he would call me. I knew how miserable he was. I knew how hard it was. I wished I could make it better.

In moments of weakness we’d allude to a reunion. Eric and I came close several times to revisiting our relationship again. We were hot for each other all over again. He wanted me to meet him. He wasn’t being prudent or careful; he was being demanding and I wasn’t really going to get what I wanted. He thought the same of me and my sense of logistics.

I thought I’d never pass on the chance to be with him no matter what, yet the next day when the appointed time to touch base came, I wouldn’t call and neither did he. Our feelings were there and every bit as real as they had ever been. No matter how much I wanted him or loved him or needed him, this just couldn’t bring anything but pain and heartache to us both, to our children, to our communities and I had to accept that a civil marriage was as deserving of my respect as a spiritual one was, no matter if I had found him first, loved him first or best, it just wasn’t right, it was a lie and he wasn’t mine.

I wrote one afternoon while reflecting upon him once again. Trying to understand why my feelings for him never ceased to subside in their effect. As the wave of him washed over me I wrote him, “The amazing thing to me is how clearly I can hear your voice, see your face, or feel your body within my body or the way you touched my heart from the times we were together. I have entirely forgotten others, but you, I never can forget. I don't understand why when I feel lonely I think of you, that somehow we would have had a different outcome if not for Dana, or our addictions/histories, or maybe my attachment to David. Sometimes, I don't even like you very much, and think you are a pain in the behind. Yet for 17 years of my life you are unbel
ievably, enduringly HOT as hell
.”

He responded, “I know. I understand. You are for me, just exactly the same way.”

And as I read his response, predictably the tears flowed. For a while this stayed between us and I kept thinking of all the ‘what ifs’ there were between us. I got a gift from Pam, my maid of honor, my former roommate and one of my closest friends who truly understands but knows our tortured history. I opened the box and found a book from her hoping to ease my pain about Eric while ribbing me and teasing me about its futility. The title read, “He’s Just Not That Into You.”

Sighing, I think that she’s only known about all my drama forever, and she’s never really cared for my push me pull you affair with Eric not when it was new, not when it was recycled, not when I was married, and certainly not after I was married and he still was. The book was funny and one scenario after another revealed that it was true. Eric was simply just NOT that into me, and never was in the ways I was for him. I felt ridiculous, silly for carrying a torch for him for that long.

A few days later, the sting of my fool hardiness fresh from this book, the sting of another unrelated romantic disappointment at hand, I call her and the phone is ringing and her calm voice answers on the answering machine. I call to tell her that I love her despite the fact that she sends me this ridiculous book revealing the exact depth of my foolishness and humiliation over Eric.

I feel as though I’ll never get my attempts at love right. I am awkward now. I am shy when I shouldn’t be. When I try to reach the same level of vulnerability and reveal myself completely, I blush or stammer or just bail out completely. The woman who brazenly steals away into her apartment with the man she just met and has to have seems to have disappeared into the ether.

And while I say that I don’t think I can trust a man again, the truth is, I can’t trust me again. Look at who I chose in a mate. Look at what David did to me emotionally, psychically, look at what he did to my body, and if you could hear him deny it today… it would sicken you the way it sickens me.

I called Eric again, in need of comfort that only he could give. I tell him of my struggle with this, yet again. “Eric, I spent the weekend writing this story of you and I and I read that book “He’s Just NOT That Into You.”

And I realized of course that you were NEVER ‘that into me’ or you would have made ‘this’ happen. It’s always been me that has romanticized us.”

“It’s true.” he acknowledges, but he also says “It just wasn’t the right time, I wasn’t ready.” And while a lot of that may be true, ultimately if I’d been the one, would timing have mattered at all? I don’t’ think so, much as I hate to believe this.

He says, “I see my efforts at repairing this marriage, and I know the kinds of things I am writing and saying to you as I sit on the therapist’s couch and I know I shouldn’t be doing this to myself, to my wife, to you. I shouldn’t be seducing you.”

For the tenth time I reiterate that I can’t understand how I could feel so strongly for him for so many years and not have it mean more than it does…and isn’t the still unspoken part really how it could mean so little to him?

Eric says, “Do you understand it? Do you understand the reasons you feel what you feel for me? “

Yes damn you, I understand it because you are all I wanted in a man and you ask me questions like that… but that’s not what I say out loud exactly. What I say is “Yes I understand it.” and I list all the qualities he possesses – the way he makes me laugh, the way I can reveal myself, the way my passion is out of control with him. I say that I also know in my heart of hearts that he never wanted what I wanted and that is the real reason behind our failure to ever have anything real and enduring between us.

“No, I am not ‘in love’ with you, though I do love you and care for you.” He says.

This stings so deeply and I say “I am not ‘in love’ with you in some childish infatuated manner. You know, I don’t have to turn our lives upside down and I’m not sure what has kept us apart all along would ever be different. I do not want to be blamed for the failure of your marriage, by your wife, an attorney, or by myself or our peers. I want you to reconcile this on your own, and if you can repair it and make it authentic and close and real, you should. I do love you. I honestly want what is good for you Eric. My love for you isn’t about getting what I want.”

Part of me wondered if the end of his marriage wasn’t inevitable. I wondered if he were free what it would mean. Sitting through a dinner, freely sliding beneath his covers to savor him again? Contemplating what it might be like to actually be in the same city at the same time with the same understanding of ourselves and each other and simply exploring what would happen if we both were free to be true and authentic to ourselves and each other in a way I didn’t believe I could ever be with anyone else.

As I confessed my feelings and then realized the significance of my love and adoration for him, how long he had rippled through my life, and why I could not seem to forget him, my throat tightened and my voice became raspy with my attempt not to openly shed tears. I’m silent for a moment and apologetically confess the tears with the sound of my voice anyway. “I’m so sorry.”

He says “I’m so sorry to make you cry.”

I tearfully reply, “No, you aren’t making me cry. It isn’t your ‘fault’; it’s only the way that I feel.” For whatever it is worth, my tears as they fall, they become small round pebbles that drop into the water, plopping, bouncing up and then down again, and rippling across how many more years and how many more feats of love and purpose? How many unanswered whys are there to be? I can’t know anymore now about the significance of this particular love, and the affects of its lesson upon my soul than I knew when that first stone was cast almost two decades ago.

“I don’t want to banish you from my life; I don’t want to send you away. I value our friendship and we DO have a heart connection. I want and I need a heart connection. But, I need to have it with my wife if I can. I need to have it for her and with her and our son. I need to appreciate and cherish her in the way that she wants to be cherished and she says that I don’t, and if I can’t… I need to accept that and have the strength to leave this marriage.”

“Eric, I don’t want you to sleep with me because you know that I love you and that you know that you can seduce me into your arms. I want you to be with me because you love me, want me, and need ME.”

Probably the hardest and truest words I’d spoken yet and I spoke them knowing that the answer was that he didn’t love me, want me or need me, not the way I wanted it. I said it knowing he is not the man I need, that my children need. I said it knowing that once I admitted this that he’d understand that he was truly playing with fire and that my feelings for him were not casual, even if the friendship was genuine. He would understand that he mattered to me in a very real and significant way.

Once again I listened to him declare that he loved me, that I’m special to him and that I matter to him, and have for years, but that he is not “in love” with me, and that it’s always been this way for him.

And so, we said, “Good bye.” And I think it was truly, finally, the last time we said good bye because when I tried to call to ask if he’d wanted to know what was new, there was no answer, and a lot longer than three weeks passed without a word from him.

I tried to make sense of how he could care so deeply, have such a strong connection to me but never wanted it to be as much as I hoped it would be. It didn’t all together make sense to me, and I suppose, in a thousand subtle ways, this must be the point of the story for me, how and why what he called a “heart connection” that he didn’t even share with his wife and the mother of his child was of less significance to him than it was to me.

I realized with the freedom of this last and final rejection of my devoted affection that the thing that made this romance so lasting for me was that I never masqueraded as someone else to Eric. He had my humor and my intellect and my passion in a raw way, there were always surprises in what I might say or do, but they were delightful, unique, unspoiled. He didn’t think I was crazy, he knew I was, and he knew it in a way that made him joyfully laugh right out loud.

T
here was so much freedom in this for me, and the thing that I learn here, after so many spoiled years with David, and the scant years of freedom I’ve had shaking in fear of it being destroyed all over again, is that I must, without a doubt, approach whatever new love is in the offing with the same abandon of the shielding of who I really am. I must be authentic and true to myself in a way that doesn’t offer me a false sense of protection.

My nakedness must be complete and the physicality is nothing compared to the rawness of emotional and spiritual nakedness I have to deliver to the man that truly can love me completely, and that will celebrate my love for him as though nothing in the world mattered ever again.

It is only the falsity of my presentation to other opportunities for love that leaves me stranded.

So, I wonder why it is that I can look at this pond where I cast that stone and see its glassy surface, quiet, apparently undisturbed and it could have taken so long to deliver this lesson home. Maybe “in love” meant infatuated and real love meant that I saw his shortcomings and faults and that he was the one person I risked exposing all of me to. While I loved Eric, letting him go was necessary and inevitable because what I truly wanted for him was the freedom to be himself, to avoid the hell of a broken family that I endured, to have peace of mind and to have a happy, healthy whole family. I wanted him to be whole, and if I was hanging on to a fantasy, then that would never happen, and he wasn’t mine no matter how much I’d wanted it to be true. He never had been.

I loved him.

I truly did.

And I let go.

The stone has settled, landed, its wave building, crashing, surging, receding and
t
hen pummeling the shore again and again. The storm is over and suddenly I find myself upon this shore making my own imprints and I can turn back and appreciate what I’ve left behind, what I discover on my own in a different way than I have before. My need to mirror myself in him was somehow released in the realization that my ability to be purely authentic was intact and only reflected in him, that this gift I’m free to give again every day in the way I dare to be authentic in all the things that I do in my life.

There’s a peace for me in knowing this and there’s a peace in me for being sure that it is finally unequivocally over too. While at one time I could not imagine there would be a time in my life when Eric was suddenly free from Roxanne that I wouldn’t attempt to scoop him up and make him my own, now, I can’t imagine settling for less than receiving what I so willingly give.

The wave has taken over the shore and while it may have devastated everything it also pulls it all back into the sea again and it leaves the shore clean and pure all over again. There is a renewal upon the shore. You can’t see all that once was, it’s sandy slate is wiped clean again and again and hope is ever new upon it.

There is so much promise, even now, even for me, and I dare to desire more to want more and to have more. I realize that things, they come full circle. The love of a woman for a man, the love of a man for her, together, as was meant from Above, they become complete, their yearning to know and love one another become the representation of what God meant for us from heaven above. The total revelation of self to each other, the ability to expose who you are and mirror back to yourself through your lover, and for you to mirror back to him his greatest self. It’s the way that God meant for it to be; that we have the challenge of seeing our greatest possibilities and our greatest obstacles to becoming that which we were meant to be in one another.