Spring is the season of love, isn’t it? On my Facebook page, there are daily photographs of children and grandchildren of old friends of mine, dressed in their wedding dresses and tuxes. (Because of Facebook, of course, you find all of a sudden, that you have friends numbering in the hundreds – where before, maybe not so many).
Suddenly I am receiving photos from childhood friends, school buddies, friends from jobs I held, friends from extracurricular activities, friends I met on Facebook and friends of friends, all sharing such a romantic time of the year, with all the flowers, the welcome warmth, the bright sunshine (sometimes) and all of those pictures of smiling, blushing couples.
All power to them, I say. They are intrepid in their love and in their faith for tomorrow. I’m impressed, and in awe, of how many hopeful people there are out there, especially in this wayward world we live in. I feel a great deal of comfort that such people exist in my world.
I was in love once with a fellow I had no intention of marrying. It was all such a waste. I gave up so much for him, and I was totally helpless in my giving. He was always so cool – he had that about him. He was immensely popular, and that he gave me any kind of attention at all just floored me. I thought that much of him and that little of myself. If all of that wasn’t embarrassing enough to admit, I still think about him, and sometimes dream of him. (Well, he’s not the only one, but more later). I don’t know why, and I can’t help it. It’s awful. Nothing worse than waking up from those dreams.
I think what hurt so much about losing him was that he had told me we were friends. Silly me, I truly thought we were. But when he went on to a specialty education with new friends, he dropped me like a hot potato. Where before he had found me ravishing and exciting and always called, now he began to be short and crisp on the phone, and to make snide remarks about my lifestyle, my friends, and the things I thought important. Finally, he stopped calling at all. I let it go.
Honest to goodness, for years and years since then, I thought of him at least once a week, if not just about every day. Why? Was it unresolved anger over being slighted? Part of me would want to face him and say, you know, you just didn’t know who I was. All the crap you thought you knew about me, the crappy way you treated me, none of that said anything about me. It said loads about you.
(He told me once I should let “my men” know I had a heart and could fall in love. What in the blue blazes does that mean? When I think about how arrogant he was, and how I bought it all, it makes me ill, really).
I don’t have any desire to see him again. I know what his opinion would be on just about any subject. I didn’t realize before how horribly unimaginative his opinions were. You know the kind of people that you can predict exactly what they’ll say in any situation? Your parents, maybe, but someone just a few years your senior?
I ran into a mutual friend at a bookstore a while back. “You ought to get in touch with him,” he said. “I know he’d love to see you.” I rolled my eyes (not where he could see, cause this fellow was a good fellow, and I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings). “Best let sleeping dogs lie,” I replied, as blasé as I could.
Because I was so hung up on this fellow for so long, I let a lot of really good men pass by. There were a couple of really great guys hanging around that I just couldn’t muster anything for, and I think, in the end, they held it against me. I really, really liked these guys. Maybe if they had ever just been up front like “Hi, I like you, want to go out?, maybe been more simple and less weird, it would have been different, but they all came in at awkward times, doing awkward things that scared me more than anything. I ran like a scalded dog.
Well, the answer to both situations is you can’t make someone fall in love with you. I would have loved that from him, but never asked it of him. We were great buddies for the longest while, and that was good enough for me. I would not have relished being his wife. Yet, I never could go the distance with any other man except for one. I married him – he was the only one who ever made me forget the first one. But although he, once again, was a great guy, he had his issues, and I had mine, and the marriage fell apart almost instantly. Now instead of remembering the older fellow, I find myself, from time to time, wistfully remembering them both.
Every once in a while, I’ll dream of the first guy or my ex-husband. I have had hundreds of dreams about them over the long years, and never a satisfying one. They’re always elusive in my dreams – there, but on the way out. I wake up instantly wistful that they’re gone and feeling the overwhelming loss again. But what have I lost? I had a series of dreams about the first one one night, one right after the other, and so finally called to see if he was okay. “Are you a psychic now?” he asked, snidely. He was okay, but his new girlfriend wasn’t.
After he dissed my profession as a respiratory therapist/psychic, (“Just a 2 year program? I thought you were a college girl…”), he asked if I was still singing. I told him no, just for pure meanness. That was something that was mine, and I didn’t want his footprints on it. And I do happen to be a college girl. That would be two degrees, thank you very much.
One ultra weird thing about the call was that I did not recognize his voice at all. It was like talking to a complete stranger, except for his inherent sneering, which was all too familiar. I ended the conversation as soon as I could.
My current fellow and I talk about marriage all the time. We’ve only been engaged for 16 years. Despite the fact that he is, of course, a great guy, and a true friend, I don’t know. I just can’t do it. But I would not trade him for the world, not for all the gold in China (or at Goldman Sachs). Still I am in awe of those who can actually take that step, take it happily, and make it work.
And I am more satisfied now than I have ever been. At long last, after dutifully chasing the dollar for the required number of years, I’ve retired, and am giving full bent to creative expression, damn the cost. It’s a luxury I never gave myself, dogmatic creature that I am. I fuss over my little family and friends and look after my little farm. I don’t think I lost much by losing either of those fellers. I know I didn’t gain much either. They might have actually lost out some.
Well, this is a story with no real point, except that Spring is a wonderful time of the year, isn’t it?
I’m so happy for all of those folks who are getting married and having babies. I love getting the photos and the albums posted on line. I’m so hopeful for them, and I wish them all the best in the world. They are so brave. I pray they never have to feel second best in a relationship, and that their mate is always a friend.
Relationships can be so hard. Good ones take about all you can give, and about all you have.
It’s just a comment on the strange way we are, what sticks in our minds, and where our minds go wandering from time to time. I guess the lesson learned, and the one I will pass on to young honeymooners everywhere, is that great quote from Maya Angelou, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
That’s a good one to keep in mind, going into that great beyond.
Lyn Hacker is a Lexington native raised by Appalachian parents to be not only educated but proficient in the living arts – working very hard, playing music, growing gardens, orchard management and beekeeping. The UK graduate has been a newspaper staff writer and production manager, a photography lab manager, a Thoroughbred statistics manager, a Bluegrass singer and songwriter, a registered respiratory therapist, a farmer, a Standardbred horsewoman, and a beekeeper. She lives on a farm in Sadieville.
