Maggie's Angel Day v4.0

So I’ve been sitting in front of this keyboard now for about an hour waiting for the inspiration to hit me.  I’ve never been one to search for things to say (or type) but tonight, while the oddly cold Texas wind blows a gale outside and the house tries to expunge the smell of freshly delivered Indian food, I sit stymied at the keyboard, not lacking in things to say, but instead, wondering where to start.  But it’s my day to write and I’ve got to start because I need to finish because I have a date with a glass of very old scotch and I need to show a box of Kleenex who’s boss.

Maggie and I met in the oddest way – a mutual acquaintance brought her to my house as one of a cadre of girls.  His carrot for them was “He’s got a boat!”  His carrot to me was “I have girls!”  Obviously, the man knew how to work deals.  Days later, on June 14th, 1999 she and I were stuck together for life (although we didn’t quite realize it yet.)

The more time we spent together, the more strongly we bonded.  Unlike all the other women I dated (and the numerous other guys she dated, the little floozy), I liked her more and more every single day!  It was a new experience for me and for her.  We shared much later about how our respective pasts were filled with frequent exercises in gently crushing our ill-matched dates’ hearts.  But when she and I met, it was if everything lined up perfectly.  Ms. Yin, meet Mr. Yang.  It was as if our souls exhaled, saying, “Ah, there you are!  I’ve been looking for you!”  So, on February 28, 2004, we called it a done deal.

Now, I wasn’t exactly the “I want to get married” type.  I may (or may not) have put up a little bit of a hissy fit (but there's no evidence since the only witness went off and died on me.)  My compromise was that we’d have two weddings: one for her and one for me.  HER wedding was February 28, with all the frilly and food and flowers and penguin suits.  MY wedding was the next day, February 29th….  In Las Vegas… with Elvis…. With me dressed as James Dean and her as Marilyn Monroe with 30 of our closest friends in assorted movie star costumes in tow.  Tell me that’s not awesome!  ☺

Fast forward only a few happy years and she was following her dream in law school at Baylor.  My dream of business school was just around the corner.  Then the shit hit the fan. In December 2006, at her birthday party, she pressed my hand against her chest and asked, “Does this bump feel weird to you?”

That was how it began.

Tomorrow, at 7:30 PM CST, just four short years ago, after she said, “Come closer” and after I skooched my body up against her as tightly as I possibly could, it ended.

I cannot imagine the man I’d be today had all I just described to you never happened.  But I can tell you these things without a doubt:
- I am a better man because I had a friend who unabashedly used me for my boat
- If you think you need a doctor’s opinion, GO TO THE DOCTOR!  NOW!
- Like keys fit locks, souls definitely have a “Oh, there you are!”
- Wishes, hopes and dreams don’t mean shit.  But believing they do make for happier days.
- You choose your state of mind.  But damn, sometimes it seems like there’s a huge crowd arguing against you and they are very convincing with their logic and/or threats
- When in doubt, don’t be afraid to apply a good scotch and lots of Kleenex… liberally

... And, Maggie, just in case you are reading this, Good night, My Love.  I love you no less today than I did yesterday.  And no more than I will tomorrow.

Now, about that scotch.  And Kleenex....

Aaaaaand… Full Stop

I’ve been pushing with all my might since October 5th and I can claim many little victories: The kitchen is now mine.  The living room is now mine.  The closets – all except for the big scary one - are all mine.  But the house is a wreck with piles of stuff.  I have one pile of stuff that’s the Keep This Forever stack (that pile is filled with emotional land mines and prickly pear.)   Another pile is the eBay pile.  Another pile is the Give To Others pile. (The process of distributing those gifts will be all kinds of fun.)(By the way, that was extreme sarcasm, just in case it wasn’t clear.)  Despite the enormous emotional effort, I feel like all I’ve managed to do is shuffle stuff around while making a complete mess of my house.

And everything has come to a complete stop.

My faithful helper texted me Monday to ask if I wanted to make another big push forward this weekend.  My heart went cold.  I didn’t even respond at first.  I feel like I’ve hit a wall.  Go figure.  The last big push I made three weeks ago left me a slobbering mess of a man.  It was the hardest of all by far, except, possibly for that first big step.  Now I fear I lack the resolve to push through to the finish, the last big push: to clear out our closet.

I dismissed my helper’s request with an honest self-assessment of my timidity: I’m seriously rattled from our last bit of work and need some recovery time.  But yet I feel I must continue.  This process is just simply unforgiving.  I get weaker with each step I take yet I know that that despite the pain, this is the right path.

For now, like a climber’s respite at the butt of the final summit, I’ve paused, out of breath, out of energy, and out of motivation.  But where my wind, muscles and drive fail me, my devotion will not.  I am devoted to the pursuit of a life that would make Maggie proud.  She’s worth that.  And so am I.  While I may rest for just a bit, I will not stop my progress.

(Damn this is hard.)