Last night I received a message from my old high school boyfriend, Frank. I haven’t talked to him in over 40 years, and I never expected to speak with him again except for brief exchanges on Facebook.
Frank had read the book. I was surprised. Shocked, actually. Maybe it’s a stereotype, but he was in the military and never seemed to me to be the type to read what is essentially psycho-babble. Still, for whatever reason he did.
His comments were extremely sweet. First, he commented that the book was well-written, and that’s important to me, so I was glad to hear that. Then he went on to the past. What he seemed to most want to communicate to me was how he thought I was pretty. He exactly said, “When I first met you, you were the prettiest girl in the room.” I just didn’t know it. What a waste when we are young, and we don’t see ourselves clearly!
Of course, being pretty is only a surface thing, despite the fact that to my mother, being the prettiest was one of The Rules, as was being the smartest. It's of little consequence to me now, as no matter how pretty you are, sooner or later, you will run into someone prettier than you. Also, I’m 60 years old now, and obviously not the prettiest girl in the room anymore anyway, but at least somedays, not all, I have a sparkle in my eye and a laugh on my lips, and that’s the prettiest thing of all.
As my conversation with Frank when on, he brought up the things that happened to me. He said he felt guilty now for not being able to help me. He said that at the time, he knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what it was, and maybe if he had taken more time, he could have done something. But what could he have done? I wasn’t even ready or able to help myself. It was a long, long time before I was ready for that, and it took a long, long time to repair the damage that was done to me.
So the conversation with Frank was very nice, but afterwards, I felt kind of sad. I thought, “That’s what my life took away from me. Things that broke me, and it was someone like Frank that that brokenness took away from me.” I thought, I could have had a normal life. I could have had a normal, happy husband. I could have had socially-admired children. I could have had financial security. I could have had all the things that my sister and my high school friends have, if only life hadn’t broken me at a very young age.
And so I was sad about this loss of the life I might have had.
I tried to think of a lot of inspiring things, like how the path I have taken has given me other things that I wouldn’t have otherwise had if I had followed that path. Unfortunately, I found it hard to define exactly what those things are faced with my current circumstances. Then I thought about all the people who maybe I have helped over the years, people who also struggle with alcoholism and addiction. I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I hadn’t been broken. I think maybe I am a better person than I would have been if I hadn’t been hurt, and at least, I wrote a book.
But I was still sad. Maybe that’s ungrateful, but it’s so. All I could think about is what I have not. The losses are real. Pretending not to grieve over them isn’t. Nor does denying our sadness lead to emotional health.
Then a brilliant light bulb went on, and I thought of the one bright spot – my two friends, Diane and Patti. If I had taken a different path, I would not have had them. Diane, the wisest woman I have ever known, and Patti, who has stood by me unquestioningly for many, many years. For some unknowable reason, when the three of us get together, it is magical. “The Triumvirate” one friend called us. It has been that way from the very beginning over thirty years ago. This is still true to this day, although our opportunities to be together have dwindled over the years. The last time we were together a couple of years ago, there was again a delicious moment where I, again and still, felt the magic, the magic of the three of us together.
And I decided that was a fair trade, Frank for Patti and Diane, and then I was happy.
So it isn’t what I have accomplished, it isn’t what I have survived, it isn’t what I have learned, it isn’t who I have helped, it’s surely not what my life looks like. It is my simple friendships that make me the happiest. Surely, I would have had other friends on a different path, but they wouldn’t have been Diane and Patti. And maybe I’m wrong, but I doubt that any other friendships would have been quite so magical.
Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, whatever failings you imagine your life or yourself to have, however sad you are about having what might seem to be a better path taken away from you, there is something in your life, something you hold as the very dearest, that you would not have had had you taken another path.
Mourn the losses. Then embrace the things you hold dear, as simple as they may be.
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