“Hey. I’m back. I hope you are well.”
That was the message I got from the
Paralegal about a month after he went into rehab. It unraveled me. Once a week while he was away, I sent him a message that I was thinking of him and he was not alone in his process. That I was there to support him however he needed to be supported. I didn’t expect a response from those messages, thinking he might be in complete isolation, but sending him love and compassion was just as much for him as it was for me.
For a month, I meditated on the knowledge that he could have disappeared into rehab without letting me know. But he didn’t. And through depths of missing him, it provided comfort to know that he cared about me as much as I cared about him, otherwise he would have just vanished. So I tried to relax into knowing that when he could, he would be in touch again. It was easier said than done.
And there he was, in touch. My intuition had been right, and for a moment there… As much as I wanted to know, I realized that for all the questions, I didn’t need the answers. That probably the worst thing I could do for him would be to badger for an explanation. But why did I need an explanation? If he wanted me to know, he would tell me. And if what was between us was real, the answers would come with time. I knew he was alive, he made it through, and that was most important. I tried calling, but he did not answer. I tried sending messages, but they were not returned. I thought about sending flowers, but for all I knew, he could have quit his job.
It hurt.
It hurt, and I was furious. I swam. I ran. I rode my bike. I meditated. In his absence, I tried to fill my time with taking care of me. How could he not know how much I cared? How could he not acknowledge the love that I was sending? How could be so self-absorbed to think that his problems were bigger and more important than my problems? We all have problems, and we deal with them.
Oh, addict. That’s what addicts do. Their problems are bigger than anyone else’s in the world.
There was nothing I could do. Nothing I could control. Except for my own feelings, and my own reaction, and letting him go.
The week after the return of the Paralegal, I was having a hard time breathing in the reality. I found myself wondering if I should ask myself for patience, giving him space and time, or if I should let it be. The voice in my head from the night we met still haunted me, and his inability to acknowledge the love and support I was offering practically killed me. Every time my phone would chime, I’d leap for it, only to discover it was some breaking headline news about the former governor’s criminal trial, causing me to sink into the depression of empty hope. A complete train wreck with the inability to focus, it was time for a romantic intervention; I needed divine guidance.
I called the Psychic.
