Submitted by Delaine Moore
I wasn’t looking for him. He was totally unplanned. But our emails progressed so quickly – naturally – that now, one month into our daily correspondence, his purpose in my life has emerged:
The universe deliberately brought me a Good Man. Not to be my partner, nor champion of life dreams. But to help restore my faith in men.
I haven’t met him face-to-face. I know I never will. Through photographs, I know he’s in his early thirties, handsome, with dark hair down to his waist. But to me, he is defined by his energy; his eloquently written words. I can’t see him or touch him; he’s thousands of miles away. But I feel him. No ulterior motives. No trying to impress me. Just open. Loving. Real.
At this time last year, Fate delivered him the cruellest of blows. He and his wife were trying to start a family and had finally sought medical help. There they discovered she had stage four cancer. She died three months later.
He is still in the throws of his grief, his love for her transparent. He is wrought with memories, angry at their stolen dreams, and warrioring hard through his Darkness. He takes each day one at a time, more often than not, just ‘existing.’ He lies awake at night, listening to the silence, sleepless because she no longer lies beside him. He has not dated or touched another woman since her. In his body, heart and soul, he is still married. He can not be untrue to her…
His stream of letters have lingered over me this past month, tossing my emotions all over the place – sadness, happiness, pensiveness, even anger. Triggers. A few times I blurted things at him in writing. Attacking things, things he didn’t deserve. Some part of me wanted to grab him and shake him and scream at him that the kind of love he once had doesn’t exist. I’ve wanted him to get mad at me, to say awful things, to prove to me that all men are assholes and not worth shit.
Yet he’s been steadfast. Open. Loving. Solid. And I’ve wept. I’ve wept for him and I’ve wept for me and all our lost dreams. I’ve poured my tears into words so they could merge with his pain and found solace. I’ve felt him hold me in his big arms and stroke my hair with his compassion. I’ve felt him get frustrated with me, and make him want to hit something hard. I’ve felt the stirring of his awakenings, his passion, his mischievous smile. I’ve felt me calm the monster within him; his moments of inner peace; the beast purring.
For him and I, this is a difficult time of year. It’s amazing how memories, particularly harsh ones, attach to the seasons through one’s senses. But Spring is a time of renewal. And I realize that this Good Man’s appearance in my life is renewing something in me that I thought was dead. A part of me is now stretching towards the sun after being buried beneath the deadwood for so long. I feel warmth in my chest. I feel lighter. And most importantly of all….I feel.