I took the angel, but didn't mean to...

I didn't realize that I took the angel.

When we broke up in May, part of the two full carloads of things I packed to take from his house was a box of what I thought were just my Christmas ornaments. Most of the ornaments I have were given to me by my sister over the years and have sentimental value, so I wanted to be sure I didn't lose them. A few others I bought in my single years at the local drugstore when I was first living on my own all those many years ago in Florida. Another one or two, I bought when he and I were together in Leavenworth or elsewhere--moose or bear things that reflected our shared joy of the outdoors.

I was in such a pained and traumatized emotional state that day when I packed all of my things, that I didn't do any more than quickly lift the lid of a single box, see that the plastic poinsettia flowers I'd bought at Michael's were in there, and called it good.

Today that one box has been calling to me from the closet. Calling like Poe's Telltale Heart.

I knew (from an email from him) that he and the kids and his parents decorated the tree on Wednesday or Thursday last week. It saddened me greatly to not be there for it.

This morning I woke up to the painful memory of having bought a set of four little ornaments a few years ago in Leavenworth for us and with great love. Each ornament was inscribed with one of our names. I was especially pleased with the purchase because his oldest daughter has a somewhat unusual name and stated often that personalized items were never made with her name on them. But I had found a set of matching ornaments for the four of us! A family, or so I thought in my heart--represented by those matching ornaments.

I also woke this morning tormented with the memory of the set box from Costco that his youngest daughter gave me as a gift now three Christmases ago, I think it was. It was a set of four picture frame ornaments, very pretty, in the shape of snowflakes. I worked hard to select pictures, cut them to size, and fit them into the frames. I think I only managed to get three of us framed, though I can't remember which one of us was still yet to be done.

I awoke this morning to the painful thought that both of those special ornament sets were probably still at his house. That they and he would have likely encountered them as they decorated the tree last week. As I lay there in bed in my pain, I imagined him coming across the little ornament with my name on it--and throwing it in the trash. :( I hate to think of what happened to the photo frame ornaments. They were such a special gift from his younger daughter. At the time I don't think I was able to express enough to her what a thoughtful gift they were. I remember that at the time I was in a state of being overwhelmed at trying to fit in as a stepmother. All the responsibility. All the emotion. All the challenges. All the grieving and coming to terms with other dreams lost. All the uncertainty. All the still-present loneliness. The child did a sweet thing to try to please me and I think that I failed to reassure her of just how much she had.

I often failed, these last 4-1/2 years. Not that I didn't try. I surely did. Tried very very hard. But also failed frequently. It's painful to acknowledge that. Maybe more so because my partner so often seemed to focus on my failures... instead of on my successes... or even just on my trying. :( So, in that way he failed, too. WE failed. We failed his kids. And we failed each other.

So, back to the angel. I remember the day when he and I bought it together. I remember each of the maybe two, maybe three?, Christmases after that that we put the angel up atop their usually extremely tall tree in the living room. It required a tall ladder to get her up there. And usually a restringing of part or all of the tree lights so that the light plugs were going in the right direction.

She's fairly simple, but amazingly pretty somehow for being from K-Mart. She fit us well, he and I and the girls, her little gold beaded strands decorating her red dress so that she looked sophisticated and even elegant... but she was from K-Mart so she was budget and realistic, which matched our shared values.

I didn't realize that I took her. I didn't mean to take her. At least, I didn't think I did. Though maybe part of me did, knowing at that time last year that we were already pretty deep in crisis, and that if we didn't make it, if we couldn't figure out how to work out our difficulties, he would move on quickly, and me not wanting that special part of our relationship to be transferred on to some new woman. She (the angel) and the emotion behind her -- when we bought her together, and each time we four put her atop the tree -- was that special to me, that I didn't want it easily transferred over to someone else. It was our special thing. Our angel. Our star of hope atop our attempt-to-merge-as-a-stepfamily tree.

But, these months later--and all that transpired between us in the meantime--I didn't realize that I'd taken her. Not until just now tonight when I finally gave in to the calling of the Telltale Heart and pulled the box down from the closet. I found her quickly and to my chagrin... under all those fake pointsettia flowers.

Here she is, a picture from two Christmases ago, a picture that I used as part of a special book I spent hours to make up and to have printed as a tribute to our memories thus far of us as a family.

I can only now imagine how it felt, for the three of them, to not find her in amongst the remaining boxes of Christmas decorations. :( It was probably painful to them, but I didn't mean for it to be. :(

Holiday tradition made bittersweet

One of my most favorite things about my little apartment is the ever-so-slight view I have of Lake Washington. That view has brought me much serenity these last many years.

My favorite thing this time of year about my proximity to the lake is that every year I get treated to the Lighted Boat Parade put on by Argosy Cruises.

It's the "Christmas Ship Festival," in which a flotilla of vessels, large and small, deck out in colorful lights and sail around to various spots in the region. On board the main boat is always a choir and an unbelievable sound system capable of projecting the music easily a mile or two in all directions.

Most years I don't look at the schedule to see when the boats will come to the waterfront park near where I live. I just look forward to the surprise, never knowing exactly which night it will come.

It never fails to rouse me, no matter what I'm doing inside my little apartment home. Always on some evening nearing Christmas, I suddenly hear an ethereal sound as though heavenly angels are descending into my front yard. My upstairs neighbors and I then run outside to watch and listen to the 20-minute performance.

"Silent Night," then "JOY TO THE WORLD" they sing. "HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH!" is always the last chorus to rise as the boats begin to pull away at the end.

It's been my favorite, private little Christmas tradition for many years.

It's an event that I'd always hoped to share within my most special relationship. But these last four Christmas seasons, he was always far away and I was alone, or else we were out doing something else. I started trying to plan our holiday activities so at least I wouldn't have to miss the night myself. Like I said, it's my one special personal holiday tradition.

Two years ago, we actually managed to make a special family event out of it. He and the girls and I bundled into the car and drove to the Ballard Locks on a night when the boats would be passing through.

It was so festive to be there with all of the other onlookers.

Then we dashed to the car and drove madly to Golden Gardens Park, the final destination for the boats that particular evening.

The four of us trounced through the sand together, his youngest daughter and I taking off our shoes so we could feel the sand between our toes, nevermind how chilly it was that night. I remember she happily offered me her hand, as my other hand held his, and we walked chummily toward the water's edge together. My heart felt warm and happy and hopeful.

There was a HUGE bonfire on the beach, something I would expect to see at a "Burning Man" festival or something. I took pictures, with my little handheld digital, of the boats out in the water. It seemed like the evening even had a nice impact on his oldest daughter, who was at that time still pretty resistant to anything so-called "family time" that involved me.

It was such a special evening.

Tonight when the boats came, when I heard the angelic singing descending to embrace my home, I stuck my feet in some shoes and went outside... but I couldn't stay out there, couldn't watch for long. My special tradition has now become bittersweet, changed and colored by loss.

In remembrance, though, here are some of the pictures I took on that beautiful evening two years ago. I hope some day maybe it will hurt less. Maybe I'll go back to Golden Gardens to watch again and enjoy the bonfire and festivity. Maybe I'll even be able some day to print one of these pictures and hang it on my photo wall as I originally intended.

Not yet, though. :(

Maybe my life is The Truman Show?

Okay, honestly I've never actually even seen the movie (I'm really not much of a Jim Carrey fan), but the general concept (at least as I understand it) is nevertheless interesting.

Sometimes I like to wonder -- hope? -- that my life is being somehow orchestrated--toward a positive outcome--outside of myself or my pervue.

So, for example, I see my counselor today and she speaks about present, past, future, and somehow in it all I suspect (hopefully) an allusion that maybe my sadly horribly painfuly dead relationship isn't actually fully dead and gone. That maybe she knows something I don't know, something outside my available context.

That somehow maybe she and God or my "Higher Power" are working in collusion. Working with and on and through my dear now-former partner, that they will bring him live and in person on stage to declare that it was all just a terrible joke. "Punked." Or tested to see how I would cope or react. (Which would be "Not well, tyvm." :p )

That somehow a rabbit will be pulled out of a magic hat at the end of the show and then we'll all get to live happily ever after.

Heck, I honestly never expected nor necessarily even wanted an idyllic "happily ever after." I've been so willing and commited to the "hard work" of relationship! I just wanted a fair and honest chance at that.

I feel like I've been thwarted at every turn.

So here I sit, wanting to hope that somehow someone is orchestrating it all. That a miracle of magic or God will be pulled off at the very end.

That somehow the story will get to wrap up tidily and in an emotionally safe and happy way for all parties involved. :p

I want to believe that it's all just been a big cosmic test by an enormously benevolent Tester and that really everything the last five years has been orchestrated for our eventual good and happiness. :p

That Cinderella (for I've definitely had the "step" family experience she lived through, not the blissful peaceful sleep of Snow White) and Prince Charming will come together and find forever joy and relational bliss. That Romeo and Juliet will both have only swallowed a few sleeping pills and will wake refreshed in the morning to experience together the glorious breaking of a new dawn.

Reinventing life - again

This has been the year from hell. The year of Big Loss. Losses tantamount for me to the death of a child and the divorce from a (still beloved) spouse.

Dark, dark days, inside and out. At least outside, we know the Winter Solstice will come -- ten days and counting -- and then the days will start to grow gradually longer, brighter. The future for the inside is much less certain. Right now it feels as though the long, bitter freeze of winter will never end.

It's been suggested to me by a caring friend or two that maybe I should consider moving. Restart my life somewhere different, away from the shared spaces, all the memories.

But I've already reinvented my life that way. Twice. I simply Do Not have the strength to do that again. Plus, I love living in the Pacific Northwest. I can't think of anywhere else I would rather live (aforementioned dark days not withstanding).

But, move or not, I find myself at another crossroads in life. Another time of being forced to take stock, shore up my meagre mental and emotional resources, and figure out how to start over. Again.

I so don't want to be starting over. I thought I saw my life ahead of me, thought I knew which direction it was going, thought it would be a good direction eventually. I touched the dream, tasted the potential for sweetness, joy, shared life with a shared love and dreams.

But now all of that is gone, and I have to start over. But I'm older and more tired this time.

I don't know how to begin reinventing myself or my life this time.

The practice of acceptance

Here are some good words to live by. I'm quoting them from a book I'm reading just now, a book that is providing no small insight about what I've been attempting to deal with the last four and a half years. These are some positive, helpful words in the midst of a lot of hard truths about trying to live in relationship with someone who, it seems, maybe has tendencies toward borderline personality disorder.

I can say that here safely because he has already moved on to a new relationship (yes, already!) and is completely disinterested in me, what I might do or write or think or have observed or (shocking!) even maybe "know" after four and a half years of shared intimacy with him. No one in his life ever was or has been closer. Of that, I'm sure.

Thus, also, sadly, no one else anywhere around us had any idea the Jekyll/Hyde effect I was dealing with. "High-functioning invisible," that's how the book I'm reading (by an expert on the subject) has defined it.

I am still in the throes of the excrutiating-ness of the sadness, loss, grief. I had so much hope and so many dreams for us. Now I have a sleeping bag made for one, instead of one half of a pair that would zip up together with his for everlasting camping harmony. :( Just one small, sad, painful detail of so many.

And so, as I thrash about in the emotional and psychic realm in which I'm now left to occupy my time... as I fill up already in less than two months time more than half of a paper journal that it ordinarly takes me over a year to fill... as I sift gradually yet voraciously through the stack of nearly 30 or more books that now crowd his side of the bed... as I sleep fitfully each night next to them instead of (fitfully) next to him... as I drive about the Northwest, going about my day from Seattle to Mt. Vernon and back, sitting stunned at my steering wheel with some version of PTSD... I attempt to internalize small simple helpful things such as this, let them be the salvation of my sanity:

Practice Acceptance

When you practice acceptance:

--You acknowledge that things are the way they are at this very moment and that some things are beyond your control. You didn't cause this, you can't control it, and you can't cure it.

--You live in the present, not the past nor future. You don't dwell on negative aspects of the past and try to assess blame.

--There's no place to go but up. Without acceptance, when you look around, all you see is what you don't have. After you've accepted the worst, you will see how much you actually have.

If only I can manage to hold these words close and internalize them. It can be so hard, during hard times. These are hard times, to be sure.