Not fade away

Today, from my office window, I watched Liz cross the street and came to the realization that finally, after six years, the memories of our relationship are starting to fade.

It wasn't a tearful moment nor was it was followed by celebration. It was simply a moment of clarity passing gently from my heart to my mind.

The funeral

I'm not looking forward to this.

Ssying goodbye to a man who has been a part of my life for more years than I can count, accepted me as one of his own and trusted me with the love of his 'la reina chula'. A man who always ended our time together with a warm embrace and a 'God bless you, Sarah.'

It's heartbreaking not being able to sit by Liz's side while she says goodbye to her daddy. Another woman will be there, holding her hand and giving her strength. Another woman will wipe away her tears. Another woman will feel her love and gratitude. Another woman will take her position with the family.

But I was there when her mother died and I was there when her father died and the other woman can't say that. Maybe I wasn't the one she called first but I was the one who held her first ... and I'd rather have that.

So tomorrow when my tears fall, I'll be mourning not only the death of a great man but the sorrow of being on the outside looking in ... and hoping some day ... still.

this is how it feels

to be happy.

Long distance

After much talking, tears and support, Caren applied for a Corps of Engineers job in Galveston ... about a 4 hour drive from here. Her parents are long-time government employees and apparantly that helps get your foot in the door.

Nothing to get upset about now. We'll see where it goes. But I'm very proud that she is making decisions based on her life and not mine.

Elusive yet attainable

I've re-read the last post about Caren probably 50 times since I wrote it a little over a month ago. And I'd like to say the relationship continues to soar toward the next step in our journey. But I can't.

The truth is I fear we've reached as far as we're going to go. And that's what we've been grappling with for a few weeks now. Both of us.

Caren is still not working. I still carry the financial burden in the relationship and that's not something I'm comfortable doing.

She is loving school and is doing so well. I know one day she'll find her true calling but it's at least a year away. I put too much pressure on her, she says.

I'm sure I do.

You don't look at life the same at 53 as you did at 28. My professional life is reaching the end; hers is trying to start. We find ourselves not having anything to talk about outside of our feelings, which we do so well. Better than I have done with anyone. But her experience pool is shallow; mine is not.

I no longer have the confidence that this is the one for me. But it is the one who has helped me open my heart again, and for that, I will be forever grateful.

What a difference a year makes

This time last year, Liz and I were in Mexico hoping to reconcile. What we came away with was a realization that despite the unparalled love we have for one another, we couldn't bridge the differences and fears five years of separation had created.

It was a very tough lesson to learn. One that I still struggle with even to this day.

But what I have on this morning of my 53rd year, is the love and adoration of a beautiful and kind woman. A woman who understands that the memories of 13 years is hard to let go of yet believes that I will find a way to do exactly that.

The irony of it is the more she believes in me, the more she opens her arms and comforts me, the more she kisses my tears away, the more I do believe, the more I let go, the more I turn to her.

I love you, Caren. The pain of this past year lessens every day I spend with you.

Please don't be floating in the Gulf of Mexico, little blue Galveston beach house!