Finding out that the person you are falling for is married
is disappointing to say the least. All of the daydreams and fantasies that
played out in my head would be for naught, and I would still have to see her at
work every day, smiling, laughing, and living a life I wanted to be a part of.
But that isn’t what happened. She carried with her a great sadness, and only briefly and on occasion would she let go and smile. I needed to know more.
We had a brief but friendly conversation over Facebook
Messenger on June 27th during which she told me she had been reading
this blog. She gravitated toward the subject matter because she had been
dealing with a very similar situation to my bad years, for the past few years
herself. We agreed to have coffee together, and found a spot to meet midway
between our respective houses, The Depot Coffeehouse.
We sat, I listened, and we drank coffee. She sipped hers
slowly as she spilled her story to me as I gulped ferociously at my morning
java as I always do. Now, what we talked about is private, and he isn’t here to
defend himself, so I will only share this post
that I wrote shortly after our first meeting. The last paragraph was written as
a result of our conversation, and it motivated her to start the process of
change in her life that she had so desperately wanted to for far too long.
That meeting was the first of many. I was in a bind for a
moment because on a technicality, she was married. But mentally and physically
she had removed herself from that relationship long ago, and I know from
experience and Wayne Gretzky that we miss 100% of the shots that we don’t take,
and I knew that I wanted to be a part of her life. I just needed to summon the
courage to figure out what the next step should be. Then I realized there aren’t
any set guidelines or steps to life. I realized that I had already been doing
all of the work necessary to be the person I wanted to be, and if I continued to
do what I was doing, my life would come together in the shape it was going to
be: I was no longer in control, my God of my understanding would guide me, and
give me the courage to deal with whatever was given to me.
For weeks we continued to talk outside of work. For weeks I
watched her struggle with her life at home as it was and as it had been for
years. And for weeks I gave her advice as unbiased as it could be; from my
perspective as a recovering alcoholic. And on a daily basis, I watched her gain
her own courage—her own strength from within—to move forward with a decision
she had made long ago. She had found a piece of her life had been missing, and
she set out on a journey to find it. She found that she could be happy. She
realized she could smile every day.
We kissed.
To be continued…
