{"Nobody knows. Nobody sees..."}
I cannot see you as I speak to you through this blog; perhaps I have never seen you, in person or even in a photo. And you cannot see me, yet you know me. You know me rather well. You know me better than my own family. You know that I loved Marie, and that I had every intention of spending the rest of my earthly life with her.
My family thinks that Marie was just a friend. They think that she was my closest, most trusted, and most absolutely treasured friend, but, my friend nonetheless. I cannot bring myself to tell them otherwise, not only because the consequences of such a revelation would have unpleasant bearings on my life, but largely because it would break their hearts. They would think that I was surely Hell-bound, that I was refusing to repent of a terrible sin and could therefore never have been Heaven-bound. Now, before you think ill of my family, remember this: They would disown me not because they didn't love me or because they were repulsed by my relationship with Marie; they would disown me in hopes that I would be so miserable that I would decide that it would be better to repent and be reconciled to them, and, ultimately, to God than to live in isolation. They believe, as do I, that "the relation to God is the all-important thing", so even if it tore them apart, or tore me apart, they would do whatever they thought might bring me to my senses. I am incredibly grateful that they love me that much. I really, really am. But my fear of living in isolation has isolated me.
When I go to see my family in my hometown this month, I will have to take off my wedding ring. I will have to take hers off of the silver chain the keeps it around my neck and near my heart. I will have to forego wearing black. I will have to "show progress" in my grief since Marie was, after all, just my roommate. I will have to show hope that I will make new friends and maybe find a new roommate someday. I will have to smile at their notions that I'll meet "a nice, Christian young man".
I can't tell my family the truth because it would break their hearts. And, I can't just tell them and then "repent" since Marie is no longer here. I cannot deny my love for her.
And yet, every time I nod along at their ideas of making new friends, marrying someone else, and moving along in life like nothing ever happened, I deny her. Every time I put my wedding ring in my pocket, I deny her. And that rips my heart out.
The secret I keep is now the secret that I keep alone. If I were to venture "out of the closet", I would have to do so alone. Marie isn't here to hold my hand. She isn't here to hold me as I cry because my family will no longer take my calls or see me even on holidays. She isn't here to tell me that she's been there and done that. She isn't here to whisper words of encouragement or to help me reason through my own theology when I'm lost in seeming contradictions. As if coming out isn't lonely enough.
We used to say that we hid in a secret garden {"The Magic in this garden has made me stand up and know I am going to live..."} not in a closet, because ours wasn't a shameful secret that was entrapping us in a dark room full of smelly shoes and mothballs. It was a secret, but it was, and is, a beautiful one. I was "trapped" by it, but I was "trapped" in a wonderful, joyful life with a gorgeous woman whom I loved, and who loved me. And it was with that gorgeous woman that I shared that amazing secret.
Now I protect the secret alone. I no longer hold it in my hands, marveling at it with my girl, delighting in its beauty with her, and clasping it gently to my heart. I stuff it a suitcase and slide the suitcase under the bed. I steal peeks at it, but only after carefully ensuring that I am alone, and that no one can see me or see where I've hidden my treasure. I sneak silently into my room, close the door behind me, lock it, quietly uncover the truth, and then, for a brief moment, stare at it again. I gaze at it longingly, wishing I had someone, anyone, to share it with. I smile longingly at the loveliness that is still there, though it now lies stagnate, and I wish that it could have continued to grow, develop, and flourish.
And then, I put my most prized possession away, slide it back under the bed, and come out of my room to face the world alone. There is no one beside me to catch knowing glances, or sly winks. I blench at the thought that I will carry this secret alone for the rest of my life. I will mourn my wife secretly. I will visit her grave in our secret garden, leaving behind blood and tears and flowers, yet ever so careful not to leave behind tracks in the mud.
I cannot see you as I speak to you through this blog; perhaps I have never seen you, in person or even in a photo. And you cannot see me, yet you know me. You know me rather well. You know me better than my own family. You know that I loved Marie, and that I had every intention of spending the rest of my earthly life with her.
My family thinks that Marie was just a friend. They think that she was my closest, most trusted, and most absolutely treasured friend, but, my friend nonetheless. I cannot bring myself to tell them otherwise, not only because the consequences of such a revelation would have unpleasant bearings on my life, but largely because it would break their hearts. They would think that I was surely Hell-bound, that I was refusing to repent of a terrible sin and could therefore never have been Heaven-bound. Now, before you think ill of my family, remember this: They would disown me not because they didn't love me or because they were repulsed by my relationship with Marie; they would disown me in hopes that I would be so miserable that I would decide that it would be better to repent and be reconciled to them, and, ultimately, to God than to live in isolation. They believe, as do I, that "the relation to God is the all-important thing", so even if it tore them apart, or tore me apart, they would do whatever they thought might bring me to my senses. I am incredibly grateful that they love me that much. I really, really am. But my fear of living in isolation has isolated me.
When I go to see my family in my hometown this month, I will have to take off my wedding ring. I will have to take hers off of the silver chain the keeps it around my neck and near my heart. I will have to forego wearing black. I will have to "show progress" in my grief since Marie was, after all, just my roommate. I will have to show hope that I will make new friends and maybe find a new roommate someday. I will have to smile at their notions that I'll meet "a nice, Christian young man".
I can't tell my family the truth because it would break their hearts. And, I can't just tell them and then "repent" since Marie is no longer here. I cannot deny my love for her.
And yet, every time I nod along at their ideas of making new friends, marrying someone else, and moving along in life like nothing ever happened, I deny her. Every time I put my wedding ring in my pocket, I deny her. And that rips my heart out.
The secret I keep is now the secret that I keep alone. If I were to venture "out of the closet", I would have to do so alone. Marie isn't here to hold my hand. She isn't here to hold me as I cry because my family will no longer take my calls or see me even on holidays. She isn't here to tell me that she's been there and done that. She isn't here to whisper words of encouragement or to help me reason through my own theology when I'm lost in seeming contradictions. As if coming out isn't lonely enough.
We used to say that we hid in a secret garden {"The Magic in this garden has made me stand up and know I am going to live..."} not in a closet, because ours wasn't a shameful secret that was entrapping us in a dark room full of smelly shoes and mothballs. It was a secret, but it was, and is, a beautiful one. I was "trapped" by it, but I was "trapped" in a wonderful, joyful life with a gorgeous woman whom I loved, and who loved me. And it was with that gorgeous woman that I shared that amazing secret.
Now I protect the secret alone. I no longer hold it in my hands, marveling at it with my girl, delighting in its beauty with her, and clasping it gently to my heart. I stuff it a suitcase and slide the suitcase under the bed. I steal peeks at it, but only after carefully ensuring that I am alone, and that no one can see me or see where I've hidden my treasure. I sneak silently into my room, close the door behind me, lock it, quietly uncover the truth, and then, for a brief moment, stare at it again. I gaze at it longingly, wishing I had someone, anyone, to share it with. I smile longingly at the loveliness that is still there, though it now lies stagnate, and I wish that it could have continued to grow, develop, and flourish.
And then, I put my most prized possession away, slide it back under the bed, and come out of my room to face the world alone. There is no one beside me to catch knowing glances, or sly winks. I blench at the thought that I will carry this secret alone for the rest of my life. I will mourn my wife secretly. I will visit her grave in our secret garden, leaving behind blood and tears and flowers, yet ever so careful not to leave behind tracks in the mud.
 |
| {...Nobody knows but me."} |
To you who are reading this:
Thank you. Thank you for standing with me. Thank you for being interested in my life and struggles, for humoring me by going on a "garden tour", even if you're only feigning interest. Thank you for acknowledging me for who I am, not only a mourner, but a girl in love. And now you have seen me.
3 comments:
Dearest Paula,
When you put that ring in your pocket, you are not denying her. You are protecting her. Keep what her and what you two have, sacred. And that is perfectly ok. It's exactly what I would do to.
You will always have your secret garden to keep and cherish. It will never go away no matter where this journey takes you.
Please know, you're not totally alone. We are all right here, with you. Although we don't feel the deep feelings you do because we are not you, our hearts ache with yours, we are feeling your pain and sorrow. We are walking with you through this, in heart, thought and prayer.
Please get writing, we'll keep listening.
Hugs, love and much peace to you friend.
Stephanie
dearest nelson,
i am so glad to share your secret, my friend. i was more than glad to share marie's because it made us closer friends, and knowing your secret has made you and i closer. you aren't alone. i know, and i love you both all the more for it.
with tiny clasped hands,
louis
Sweet Paula, know that we walk beside you in this journey. Though you feel alone, Father has given you a family of choice who love you, share your grief, and are here to encourage you. We see you, we know you, we love you. And with you, we remember the love you and Marie shared. Your beloved wife, life partner, your beautiful girl.
Lynda
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