Summertime

Saturday, August 19, 2006
Summertime is a strange and nostalgic time for me. Important things happened to me in the summertime. I met two very significant people on the very same summer day a really long time ago. One of them was my very first love and the other became one of the very best friends I have ever had. Three years later (also in the summertime), it was over between my love and I (the relationship anyway) and we were burying our friend. Every year since, when the anniversary of his death comes nearer, I am sucked back to those years when we were all together and then reminded of having to say good-bye.
Just last night, I sat up with my husband talking about it all. I laughed & cried and told my stories (probably the same stories I tell every summer). Each year, he always listens patiently as I try to make sense of it. Each year, I remember less of my dear friend's face and voice and I struggle with the guilt of it; and then there are the years & years of my old love and I and what went wrong. When did it go so wrong and why am I still so haunted by it? (As Whitney Huston comes on the TV behind me singing I will always love you sending me straight back to that time – how eerie is that?)
This morning, before Wayne left for work, I thanked him for listening. I explained (as I do every year) why I get this way each summer and told him about the dreams I end up having and the memories that come flooding back.
I told him – I think I know what I did to change things between my old love and I. I told him something I said once years ago and didn’t mean. I told him how awful it was. I told him it was the only time I have ever chosen words to intentionally hurt someone. I said the most horrible thing and I didn’t mean it for even a second. I was just so hurt… Wayne asked - why don’t you write to him to say your sorry? I told him I’ve written a few times in recent months with no reply (not about that per se, but still with no reply). So, I guess this is as close as I’ll get for now because I don’t know if he even remembers what I said, but I do and I’m so very sorry.
This blog is my outlet for those things that float around in my head that I can’t do anything about. Someone asked me recently ‘Why do you write about such things? What makes you think people care about any of it?’ I said I don’t care if other people are interested or not. This blog is for me. It’s my memoirs – my history – my thoughts and ramblings – that just happen to be public. I used to write letters I didn’t send. I guess this blog is my way of sending them.

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