November 3, 2018

Today (yesterday, at the time of this post) an old woman told me about a scare she had many years ago, when her husband was diagnosed with cancer (he’s still alive and well today). Some friends offered to, and urged, the despairing couple to use their cabin in the woods for a few days – to get away from everything and to (I supposed) unite/talk/reveal/weep together over terrible new reality and the imminent loss that was likely to come.
But, the lady says to me that she didn’t really want to go, but felt like she should, in order to create memories; to do something together that they could both connect with or some such thing. She went on to say it wasn’t like they didn’t ever do anything together, didn’t have any shared experiences – I mean, they did after all go on 3 cruises together but they’d both been so busy working and doing things that there wasn’t a lot.

Essentially, what I heard from her and felt in my bones hit me like some strange integration into… in the middle of a strange, wild country I didn’t know someone could live in day-to-day: that they did not share that expansive, deep, dark love of True Love, and they never had – not with each other. I wondered later about my luck in life, to have experienced a bit more than a few types of love with an Other that brought me some astral-projection level “oh wow”-type of feels because of the connection. About the luck of being loving, loved and in-love with someone very deeply = that kind of feeling was not present in her expression while she talked of (shared with me) her traumatic turn at mid-life and the existential love-crisis (of sorts). It’s possible it was there, and maybe it exists a bit now in her life…but I don’t think so. And that made me think of my luck, my love, my long-term and far-reaching love affairs that amounted to a love of Life Itself.

purple-dusk
A cold, dark-water search; warmed by a still-summer sky. ©JDuckro 2018