Something new, something blue, something borrowed…. That is you….
The solar storm has passed, leaving me with no excuses. I am stuck. Stuck in the mire of my thoughts and feelings, entangled in a situation that has roots back in 2010.
That year, I started a friendship unlike any other—a bond with a woman that was closer than any sibling relationship. We just understood each other—or so I thought. You can have deep, meaningful relationships with people you aren’t romantically involved with, and that’s what we had. It was a connection that felt stronger than any of my marriages. At times, I even felt that this bond contributed to the breakdown of my marriage.
To be clear, she did not break my marriage, nor can I blame her. I confided too much in her about the bad times, which unintentionally gave her the power to dismantle my hopes and happiness. In fairness, Lorick, my husband, was also a destroyer of hope and happiness. He is gone now, and I wish to forget the bad times, but they were real, and they hurt. He was not good to me.
When Lorick died, my friend turned the tables on me. They did not like each other, but somehow she blamed me for it. He had his legitimate reasons. But the final cut to my jugular was her knowing that his ashes were being scattered in the river and not telling me about it—in fact, leading me to believe they had been scattered months earlier.
Now, she is getting married to his best friend. Even though I don’t want to be part of this wedding, it has me in a twist.
I will never forget when I fell in love with Lorick and she looked me in the eye and said, “I cannot believe you found someone before me.” I was stunned. That should have been the eye-opener for me. Friends celebrate each other’s victories, not selfishly look to what they want and put down what you have.
I find myself lost, mad, and yet accepting my new future without regret—which is the odd thing. It’s a myriad of emotions like nothing else. I share this because I really have nowhere else to store it in my mind. There are many levels to this story, and I may explore them, or I may just need to vomit this piece out.
The Dish by Deni 