Old Memories in a New Season
Two years ago today, I fell hard for my best friend accidentally.
There was magic being in my favorite place. That morning I woke us up at 5 am. He really hadn't believed I would commit to doing so. The woods were quiet, there was a humid chill to the air as I crawled out of my tent, unzipping the door as softly as possible. I wiped the dew off my camp stove to make coffee. We brushed our teeth while the water heated, he grabbed the cream while I filled our mugs. My belly fluttered in anticipation, I was in a race against the sun. Birds echoed through distant tree-tops as we tread along the dirt path. Most human life was still asleep. The water in the lake was just as still and serene. We woke the waters with the small ripples of his boat. It was a perfect morning. We seemed to have the giant lake to ourselves. There were fires over the border and sun was pouring its orange glow over us as it climbed the sky. We toured the shores, snapping beautiful pictures, catching a morning buzz sipping our Irish coffees, watching the world wake up on my favorite lake in the world. We tied off the boat across the lake to explore an old portage trail, looking for a hidden lake. The only thing we found was an abandoned shed and 2 trillion mosquitoes. We docked at a remote campsite and dreamed up future plans of when we would book the picturesque site and which trees would hold the hammock near the water. We anchored in a secluded bay watching deer and snapping turtles in the company of our collective silence, admiring the landscape and the rocks beneath the crystal clear waters. The next morning we did it all again. I could have sustained a lifetime of happiness meditating over those moments.
Two months after that trip, we communicated our feelings. I was overly cautious, we spoke about our concerns and made things official after the commitment to each other that we would always face the hard things together, and not run away. Over time, my guard slowly fell as he handled me with care and consistency.
The memories of just one year ago, weren't so different than the previous. Only this time, more in love than ever and on his turf, in the back channels of a hushed river, pushing the limits of how far we could go down stream as the banks began to hug us tighter on each side. Again, slating more calendar promises of returning with a better boat to adventure deeper. I thumbed through my phone's historical reminders, reminiscing the weekend to a friend.
"You need to delete them. You have better, exciting new stuff to focus on ahead of you. Why do you do that to yourself?!"
She's right, I do have bright things ahead of me, but I'll never delete them. Sometimes it's painful, but I can't deny enjoying every minute of those memories. Even if deleted from physical existence, the memories will never be erased. They are imprinted on the pieces of my heart and soul that make me who I am. The core memories, the joy, the pain.
When the relationship coldly and abruptly ended, he attempted to convince me everything about that first summer had been a lie. Listen, I had been abused and gaslit for a decade in a past life, but even that didn't hurt as badly as to hear that the happiest days I had ever known in my entire life (outside of meeting my own children), were being passed off as a lie. I had never been more devoted to anyone before. I had never been open to be all of who I truly was - and appreciated - by anyone else like I had been with him. A lie?
I retraced early conversations captured in our chat histories. Who was this person? Which was the real him? Rehashing memories, in both pain and joy, paint a picture and tell a story. To delete them is to run from the joy, the pain and the story you were a part of. To revisit them is to get comfortable and accept the parts of your story that has made you who you are, that aren't always comfortable.
We used to go to church together. We used to talk about God and share prayers. I had offered to teach his child along with my own. I had forgotten how much of a part that played in our friendship in the beginning. I heard something in my podcast by Father Mike Schmitz this morning referred to as spiritual physics, saying, "Its much easier to pull someone down than it is to pull someone up.
That's why it's so important to be with someone who shares your faith passionately." We did share that faith for a long time, or so I believed.
Maybe that was the lie. Maybe he had lost sight of Him. Maybe he was getting pulled down by another. I don't think I'll ever know anything more, other than I know there was evil fear placed in his life that I couldn't lift him out of. And God knew if I couldn't, I was going to be pulled down too.
You got all that out of looking at old pictures from last year? I did. It helped remind me that it's OK to honor what was, because it has led me to who I am. The person who gave up on me was not the same person I fell for two years ago, or the person I was madly in love with last year. I will always treasure those pictures and memories, and I will mourn that it couldn't have lasted and that he couldn't face the hard things with me afterall. The recounts of the past revealed the story of change. I will unfortunately carry these core memories like a heavy armor into my future with me. Those pictures and events healed me, hurt me and shaped me, that's the raw truth of the matter. Looking at them with fondness, as well as heartbreak, and accepting the story, will create a self-awareness that will allow me to learn and grow. In viewing them, I am reminded there is purpose in the events of our lives, as hard as they may be sometimes. And I will choose to be grateful to God for lifting me and leading me to the uncomfortable places where I can conquer the fears that easily can become our greatest enemies.