Telling Love Stories

Having just had two major dances and Valentine’s Day and now this crush (which, for now, is “just friends”).  I’m shaken.  She’s stirred.  And now I have to keep my mouth shut.

I just found out what’s wrong with me–how it’s ruined our lives.  I need to go through a grieving process, but can stop reacting to and withdrawing from medications long enough to process.

And just when we might see the opportunity to re-capture some chances to heal and do some of the things we’ve missed because of me…

A boy walks in and informs the situation. Time is shorter than we think.  Figuratively, of course, but certainly as the rain.

He isn’t just any boy.  I’m sure his mom sees his mess and can a locate him by smell in a silent house. But I spent the better part of last week trying to figure out how to get a little parent mentoring from her without weirding the relationships.

I saw some things before I settled down, while I was invisible and no one cared what I did.  She’s not likely to find better (Unless he eats his toenail clippings or something*).  Not just because of the person he is, but also because of her temperament and who’ll be able to handle her.  (If only I could pour out my heart.)

I have to keep silent.

And it’s made me start thinking in love stories.

Mother love.  Father love.  Brother and sister love.  Many of my own. The stories of friends, who, if I needed them today, they’d cancel their lunch meeting and climb in the car.  All the stories.  Right up to the one whose socks I pick up.

Who has stood silently by and taken a lot of unpleasantness off me.  Lonely probably definitely.  And when I say lonely, I mean…  Never mind.

Love stories.

Several times in the last several years, I’ve had people who actually said to me, “Why can’t you see how much you are loved?”  The pastor even got frustrated and couldn’t finish his sentence.  Which is hilarious.  If there’s anything he can do, it’s find a word.

Before the meds went rogue, I had three days of freaking awesome.  I couldn’t believe people lived like that.  It would have been euphoric except I was slightly angry about how far off normal I really was.  It has served me well since the trouble started, because I now know what I am fighting for.

During the “Oh-So-This-Is-Normal?” time, I saw my husband as I have never seen him.  As he’s always been.  When I crashed, I knew where to land.  And he caught me.

I saw my girls.  Growing. Moving away.  Discovering discoveries. The bird’s eye view of a story that’s “more-like-I-wanted-it-to-go” than I thought, but I’m not ready to turn the page. Because when things are perfect, something always happens.  I need more time before the unexpected twist comes, but stories are always better for the timing.  So I’ll keep waiting and watching.

Telling love stories in my head.

*Mickey knew a couple who married in their thirties.  First marriage for both. It was only after the ceremony that she found out he kept his toenails to chew like tobacco in his leisure time.  It’s our household standard for getting surprised in relationships.