When dreams die

We sat at a table overlooking the water.  The setting sun filled the air with fire, licking the edges of the cafe's tables and chairs.  But on such a beautiful evening your eyes were filled with tears.  Your marriage was disintegrating.  The man you loved, and still love, treats you more like an enemy than a friend.

When dreams die, we die with them... a part of us anyway.

There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for you.  You know that.  But I couldn't say the magic words to make your marriage better, though by God if I knew them, I swear I would. 

I remember when you were a little girl, how the joy used to shine from your eyes like sunbeams from heaven.  I remember the way you laughed and crinkled up your nose.  Now I look at you and watch the tears stream from those eyes and drip from the end of your nose.  Knowing what I know now would I have tried to stop your marriage?  It's an impossible thought, a useless one.  I shake my head.  Looking at the water I'm filled with the need to do something for you, anything, but I stay quiet. 

After you say goodbye and return home I remain at our table.   The water is darker now and the lights along the harbourfront are on.  A cool breeze begins to blow across the bay. 

Dreams die.  Oh my heart was breaking for you. 

All those dreams you had for your marriage have faded like the setting sun, only there will be no rising the next day.  But, and I am filled with a sliver of growing hope at the thought, the sun will rise on other possibilities, brand new possibilities!  You'll love again and have new dreams.

Rising to my feet I am elated.  Yes, I know you will thrive and be happy once more.  I've made up my mind to do something for you that very night.  After returning to our home I'll sign the divorce papers and hand them to you myself. 

Blog post from the past

The following is taken from a blog draft written December 16, 2006, separated from my wife, on the verge of divorce, after returning home to spend Christmas with strangers.

How is it that a man can sit in a room surrounded by people and still feel alone?  Some men prefer it this way.  They are at ease until someone should happen to say something to them, at which point, the man feels suddenly shaken, even violated in some way.  The offence is worse if the person should speak directly to him.  It is not so bad if the other should sit down beside him and, gazing out into the crowd without looking at the man, say something requiring no more than a grunt or a “hmm”.  At this point the two can remain silent and feel no awkwardness.  It is only when one becomes aware of the other’s presence that discomfort should follow.  When one has the expectation that two people sitting next to one another should speak to each other then any silence is hardly tolerated.  One can often observe one of these people in action, trying to stimulate conversation, saying the most ridiculous things to prompt the other to speak.  “This is certainly a nice evening isn’t it?”  Or even more ridiculous: “I hear it’s supposed to get colder.”  The silent man, at this point, may do one of three things.  1) He will answer with a nod of the head or raise his eyebrows but for the rest of the evening bear a grudge against the one who violated his peace with such foolish statements; 2) He will simply move to another location where he can dip some shrimp in seafood sauce, or quietly stack a piece of cheese, some assorted meat, on top of a cheese or perhaps herb flavoured cracker; or 3) He will lash out at the offender with a verbal assault.  He may do all three.  Slowly he will nod his head, his neck and face beginning to flush with fury, his eyebrows will rise and his eyes bulge until suddenly he bursts out with “For God’s sake is that the most intelligent thing you can say?!”  Or perhaps, “Who really cares about the weather, it will be what it will be, and the evening is like any other!”  Afterwards he’ll make his way to the table with assorted cold cuts, cheese and crackers, and if he’s lucky the shrimp, where he’ll prepare a tasty tidbit which will distract him from the embarrassment of his outburst.  It is embarrassing in the end, though also gratifying.  It is embarrassing because he was forced to break his own silence, to violate his own spherical vacuum of silence surrounding his body.  He’ll realize he had a choice, that he could have remained silent, adhered to point 1) or simply moved straight to point 2) without calling any attention to himself.  But it was also gratifying, he’ll decide, as he eats his cracker and cheese.  He may even smile to himself.  The look on the other person’s face was priceless. 

Letter to a Friend

It's miserable now, and the world no doubt seems like it's ending. In a way it is ending.. the world as you once knew it is no more. The sooner you accept that you can never go back to this world the better.. but of course you're probably in no position to accept it yet.

I lost my mind during my separation.. I mean I was lost completely. During that time I had to do whatever it took to keep from going off the deep end into suicide. It meant creating a space for myself right where I was. It meant rethinking what it meant to be me.. you know, who I was as a man apart from anyone else. Throughout history men (and women) have found themselves in that place.. and they have left some heart-wrenching monuments along the way. It is a human truth that each one will move through that moment in a different way. Some will indeed commit suicide.. others will become destructive towards others and themselves.. still others will channel their feelings into a momentous creative act.. some will travel. Each one is different.

The reality is life is an open possibility.. even though it may not feel like it right now. It is. The key is not to do something stupid that will narrow those possibilities.. In the moment this kind of foresight is rare.. but it is vital. Destructiveness is ultimately futile. Suicide works in that it ends the pain, but it's permanent, without the possibility of discovery or a new event. But all men, having considered suicide and persevered, realize what a small thing it was, in the end, that caused them to consider death, the most unchangeable human act. The act is not commensurate with the suffering... There is no human experience that is as permanent as death (including suffering), and so the suicidal act is ultimately excessive. What you need is not excessiveness, but simplicity. 

Here in the early hours of darkness is no time to lose your head.