Letting go…

journal

 

I never thought I’d use my Physical Education degree, but I did.  I enjoyed being a fitness trainer at the YMCA.  I worked there for about a year, but it became increasingly difficult to maneuver around the equipments and exercising bodies as my peripheral vision decreased.   The bouts with depression increased, and I began to call in sick.

 

The problem was I still refused to accept the fact that I was going blind, and my waning vision angered me.   I was afraid to ask for help as this would mean I had to acknowledge the fact that I had a disability, and I didn’t want people to think me as a liability.  I wanted to be an asset.  Not a burden.

 

It grew more difficult to make ends meet, so in come a room-mate…my brother.  At first, it was great; but, he had his own demons to battle.   Being an adopted child, he’d always sought to be accepted.  He’d always felt like an outsider, I believe.  While he stayed with me, I noticed he hung around with several less than favorable individuals.  When they started to hang around at our apartment, I got fed up and threw them out.   I told my brother, no more.  Soon after, he moved out and began to date an older lady from Louisiana.

A short time later, I received an unexpected call from someone I knew from college.

Jay and I met as freshmen in college; several years before I met and married my late husband.   He had a girlfriend, and I dated his best friend.  After our first year in college, he needed to leave the area for a while.  He came from a very broken and dysfunctional family life, and felt the need to start a new one for himself.   By this time, we’re both single.  He enlisted in the Navy.  After boot camp, he paid me a visit.  It was a brief one as he was getting ready to go over seas to Kuwait to fight in the imminent war in the gulf there.   He wanted to see me one more time as they were predicting that the rate of casualties were going to be high.  I remember thinking how handsome he was in the military uniform.

He survived the first Gulf War.  I saw him twice afterwards before we eventually lost contact with one another.  I figured he’d gone on with his life, and I met and married my husband.

Eight years later,  he was calling me to ask if  he could come and see me.   He’d found out that I was a widow, and wanted to check up on how I was doing.  Sure, I replied.  I’d loved to see him again.

Then, I started to think back to that day he paid me a visit before he headed overseas.   Did he like me more than just a friend?

We reunited in a mall, and ate lunch at a local restaurant.  That was in early June.  I can’t explain it, but things just clicked between the two of us, and the next thing I knew we were dating, and then engaged.  That September, we were married.

Before the wedding, he gave me a gift.  A journal.  A beautiful book full of blank pages.  By this time, I hadn’t written in years.  Somehow, he knew I needed this.   I took the journal, and started to put words in it.  The more I wrote, the better I felt.  I poured out all the anger and resentment on to those pages.  Writing in that journal became therapeutic as it began to sooth the pain and emptiness that I’ve held on for so long.

Writing enabled me to start letting them go.

 

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