Soul searching, in every sense of the word
I haven’t been writing because I’ve been doing a lot of processing since that trip to San Francisco. It was a harder trip to come home from than it was to take, and it was plenty hard to take. I think I’ve finally realized that the ongoing relationship I’d hoped for with his family and friends just isn’t going to happen. I knew it was hard to build something upon a foundation of the death of the one man who connected us all. I knew all along, but I guess I allowed myself to hope.
I think we all did the best we could, but they just don’t have room in their lives for me, beyond cordiality once in awhile. I have room for them, but not all of my life can be shared with them, and that is constraining for me.
I thought long and hard about his best friend’s invitation to do this one more time, in May, and I don’t think I can. It hurts me too much, to be on the outside most of the time, to step into the inner circle for a few hours, and then be alone again. The irony is that I knew more about these folks and what was going on with them before they ever knew I existed than I do now that we’ve met. A kept me abreast of the latest happenings. Without him here to do that, I don’t hear from them. It’s too bad, really. I like them. But it is what it is. And I think for my own sanity, I’m done making the extra effort.
I will be happy to hear from them when they think to reach out, and I will respond. But I won’t expect anything else from them. I won’t allow an e-mail to raise my hopes for more. I can’t keep doing that, because when the reality hits once again, as it has every single time, it lays me low. The situation is not going to change, so I must.
And I’ve found that making that decision, I feel better. I was holding onto something that wasn’t helping, something that was more fantasy than fact, in the erroneous hope it would let me hold on to him.
More about that, later. I’m still processing.