Love Lost

Exactly thirty years ago, today,  July 1st, I thought my world was ending. 

I had been sick for a few years, and my doctors were not able to give me a diagnosis. I was slowly slipping into the abyss of the chronically ill, where, no matter what I clung to,or how loud I yelled out for help as I slid down into the crevass of hopelessness, I knew I was lost.  I had begun to separate myself from family members, friends and even from my own situation.   At last I found myself in a state of peacefulness.  Quiet, calm and reasonable.

My relationships suddenly came into shark focus.  My two children - now in their early teens - were no longer babies.  They were capable and strong - each a part of my heart.  My husband was my best friend.  I was surrounded by love.

But my illness had taken its toll on everyone.  Keith's own needs were unmet and he had allowed himself to seek love outside our marriage.  We had talked about it rationally, reasonably, like adults, and finallly, thirty years ago on this day, as we sat on the sandy beach, bathed in the summer sun, I looked at him with new eyes and saw how sad he had become.  I recall the moment as one of utter whiteness, blinding sun, blistering heat, total silence.  My heart was heavy as I told him I loved him and that it was time to find out if he needed to leave me to seek his own fulfilment.  The other woman was waiting for him.  We both cried and held each other with a fierce passion, knowing it might be the last time we sat here together as a married couple.

If I had any hope that he might stay with me, take care of me, continue to love me as his only love, it was dashed when he wiped hot tears away and said, "I have to leave you, to go to her and find out if it's real.  I'll go quickly."  And, for him, Canada Day became his emancipation day.  Freedom from caring for a sick wife, from being shackled by a 19 year marriage - once solid, now shadowed by only vague memories of the good times.  I gave him the liberty to seek a new love with my permission.  His ambivalance showed as he stood, balancing from foot to foot in the hot sand, and helped me rise so he could embrace me. He cried out, "I must be crazy.  I love you, but I have to do this".  I folded into his arms one last time before he walked away, and left me looking out over the cool, clear water. Alone.

There is a certain kind of peace that comes with the understanding that there are no more chances, no more options, no more hopes to grab.  I found that peace and calmly turned to walk back to my cottage and the remnants of my  life.  I had to make plans for my children and me.

Ultimately, I was blessed by finding a good doctor, and by the end of summer,  I had  radical surgery, found new hope for recovery and discovered that I had a stronger, more valiant source of strength than I ever suspected, lingereing within me.   I emerged from my sick bed cacoon to fly with new wings.

Over the years that followed, Keith married and divorced his soul mate, married and divorced his next wife, and finally married one  last time to the woman he needed to calm his restless spirit.  I remarried, became a widow and married again, this time to the one man who will love me forever.  Both Keith and I have remained each other's confidantes, friends and even supporters in life's challenges. 

I have learned that loving relationships can be lost.  This is the human condition in a temporal world.  But the experience of love is never lost.  It remains in our memories as timeless, eternal and infinite and feeds that part of us that is our soul.