Am I Dreaming? Too Surreal

I wanted to share this story when it happened, but it would have given things away that I wasn’t ready to share, yet.  On 7/23, I had spent the whole day working on this entry.  It was about one of my high school boyfriends, Michael, who later married the sister of the man I ended up marrying.  Her name is Sharon, and when Dave committed suicide, she was among those who blamed me for his death.

So I had spent the day thinking about Michael as I retold the story of our relationship.  By the time I went to bed, I was dealing with memories that had been churned up and when I got to bed, I had the overwhelming urge to say a prayer.  I feel like I have an ongoing dialog with God, much like Tevia in Fiddler on the Roof, so formal prayer usually only happens for me when I go to mass.  But the urge to pray was strong enough to make me emotional.  I crossed myself and whispered a prayer thanking God for the many blessings in my life and asking for guidance.  Since I am without a job and disabled, I’ve been wondering what my purpose in life might be.  I’ve been looking for my new calling.

When I finished, I crossed myself, took my nightly medications, and picked up my phone.  I had a message from Michael’s older sister.  She told me that Michael had been suffering from seizures for some time, now, and that he’d had one a week or so back and died from it.

I was shocked.  My first thoughts went to Sharon and their sons, both adults, now.  I said, “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.”

She went on to tell me some ugly things about Sharon and implied that the stress that was caused by her behavior was what lead to Michael’s death.

It has always been like a wound that would never heal that Dave had died before I ever got the chance to really understand why I hadn’t been happy.  The fact that I knew that his family hated me, people that I once loved, just made the wound more tender.

Still, I don’t like talking shit about people, even people who have hurt me.  I try not to say something about someone that I wouldn’t say to them.  So I told Michael’s sister that I wasn’t interested in bad-mouthing Sharon, but that I was truly sorry for her and her family and I asked her to pass my condolences on to her mother and sisters.

I was so stunned by the news of Michael’s death, especially on a day I’d spent so much time thinking about him, 20 years after my relationship with that family was destroyed on the train tracks in Live Oak, CA.

I felt a strong compulsion to send a message to Sharon via Facebook and offer my condolences and prayers.  I looked her up through a mutual friend and sent her a message via messenger.  “I heard about Michael, and I’m so sorry.  You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers.”

I really never expected to hear anything from her.  So I was further stunned to see that I had several messages from her.  “Who told you?”  “It’s been a week.”  “Don’t contact me again.”

I sent her one more message, telling her that Michael’s sister had told me and that I was sorry to have upset her.  I really just wanted to offer my sympathies. I promised I would not contact her again.

She said, “They think I killed him!”

I said, “Oh, shit.  She didn’t say anything like that to me.”

She said, “Of course she didn’t.  Those bitches.  They all blame me.  Now I know how you felt.”

I was absolutely speechless.  That wound was suddenly open again.  I said, “If you know how I feel, then I suspect that you’re blaming yourself.”

She typed a lot of stuff really quickly, so quickly it was hardly intelligible.  She told me how amazing and frustrating Michael had been.  She told me how she’d done something stupid but it wasn’t as bad as people were making it out to be.

I felt like I was in the twilight zone.  Why was she explaining herself to me?  Why would she care what I thought?

She went on to tell me how much it hurt that these people who’d been part of her family for so many years, 30, to be exact, had suddenly turned on her.

I said, “You need to work on forgiving yourself.  When you can do that, it won’t matter so much what other people think or say.”

She told me that this was too much, and she couldn’t talk to me anymore.  I told her that I understood and I would not contact her again, but that she was welcome to contact me if she wanted to talk further.

She thanked me.

She

thanked

me.

That wound that had lingered for 20 years closed instantly.

She did contact me again the next morning.  She wanted to tell me not to let Michael’s sister know we’d talked.  I told her that I don’t really talk to her that much so that was no problem.  Then we chatted a little bit about her boys and stuff until she got too emotional again.

I feel like I’d lost 100 lbs then.