On Tortes and Life and Love

This is all that's left.  A luscious chocolate torte to share with love and, at the same time, say goodbye. Not even a trace of fresh raspberry sauce remains to break the stark reality, to cover the blunt truth, disguise the sorrows beneath those last almost-24 hours of joy. It's possible we may meet again in this lifetime -- indeed, I need to hold onto that hope -- but much distance and newer lives for each of us will create a gap that may not be breachable.  We are, after all, no longer young and we must use our time and energies to reap the greatest joy we can from the lives we must now build so far apart.

Almost six years our lives have been indelibly intertwined.  Earlier today it occurred to me that in all my years, never has anyone -- anyone! -- been a part of my life in any deep way for so many of those years. Gratitude overwhelms even as sorrow rushes in.  Our lives never touched in the way I would have liked, or I would still be in Eugene, not traipsing off to Georgia.  But the essence of my spiritual beliefs tells me that this was not the reason we came into one another's lives.  Our purpose was to help one another heal, and I think it's safe to say we have accomplished that purpose and it is now time to let go, to move forward into new stages of our lives.  I don't like it. I don't want it.  But I recognize the truth, or at least the truth as I see it.

None of that makes this easy.  Watching him walk away after one last hug was something akin to tearing out a part of my soul.  Only now, a day later, are the tears coming as the reality hits.  I will never see him again.  He's gone. We'll talk, we'll write, we are friends for life, but will there ever be another hug? Another shared evening of food and wine and brandy and joy?  Probably not.  I knew this would be difficult, but it's beyond difficult.  It's heart-wrenching, even as I recognize the necessity and prepare to follow my own path onward to Georgia.

If all goes well with the house purchase I have 5 weeks remaining in Oregon.  Too long to begin packing and making final preparations, and yet little more remains.  I'm treading water, waiting for word that the house has appraised and that the deal is moving forward.  Outside my door, the weather is as blustery and unsettled as my emotions. And yet, all will clear. The sun will shine again, the rain will stop. And I will let go, move on, and be happy.

For you, my sweet, I wish nothing but the greatest of joy and love and happiness. And I am filled with gratitude for all that you have taught me.