The Musings of a Confused Man

I don't think I could rightfully say what my first memory of Juanita was. She was someone that has always been a part of my life. When my parents first started taking me to the small American Baptist Church after I was born, she was there. She played the organ almost every Sunday.

I do remember that when I was older, I'd walk to the front of the sanctuary after many Sunday morning services and sit in the front pew just behind the organ. Juanita and I would talk as she continued to play the organ as people mingled and slowly filed out of the church. I think I was mesmerized by the way her fingers glided across the keys and her feet transitioned from pedal to pedal, making beautiful music.

In my twenties, when I bought a small keyboard (I had neither the money nor the space for a full sized piano), I sought Juanita to help me learn how to play. I'd practice on my keyboard and dutifully go to her house for my lessons. Some weeks, I'd bring my keyboard while other weeks, I took my lessons using her upright. We had a great time, joking, talking, and enjoying both the company and the music. I regretted quitting my lessons, but we both agreed that I was having too much trouble making the time for both practice and lessons.

After quitting my lessons and then leaving the church a year later, I didn't see Juanita much. On occasion, our paths would cross as I'd go back to the little church to support family members who still attended. And the fact that her son, Tom, married one of my cousins gave rise to a few family occasions where we would see each other. On those occasions, we would greet one another with warm smiles and fond wishes.

Tomorrow, I'll see Juanita one more time. This time, I will be paying my final respects. You see, Juanita lost her fight with cancer and passed away this past week. And a good number of us will miss her greatly. We'll miss the music, love, and kindness she brought into this world on a regular basis.

But we will also remember her for these things. And we will remember that we are all better people for having known her. And hopefully, those memories will inspire us to emulate those traits we so admired in her. So in our sadness, we will also find warmth and joy.

After all, that's how Juanita would've wanted it.

As I mentioned in my previous entry, my family suffered a tragedy during the time that my blog was offline. During the early afternoon of December 31, 2006, my Aunt Betty and Uncle Fred were killed in an automobile accident just a few miles from their home in Virginia. The Washington Post has an article which describes the details of the accident fairly well. Since the article was written, I believe that the two surviving victims of the collision (the driver of the van and her 5 year old daughter) have been released from the hospital. The woman, however, did lose a leg.

The whole experience was indescribable. My family first found out about the accident that afternoon when my father's sister, Jennifer, called from York. Apparently, Uncle Fred's daughter, Faith, called her. When Aunt Jennifer got through, she was hysterical. In fact, my mother had to ask her a couple of times who was calling because she couldn't recognize Aunt Jennifer's voice. During that call, we found out that Aunt Betty had died, but Uncle Fred's status was still unknown. Aunt Jennifer called back about an hour later with the rest of the bad news.

Much of the rest of the night was spent relaying details to other members in my father's family, as well as fielding calls from concerned friends who wanted to offer their condolences. we did manage to keep our standard New Year's Eve tradition of getting friends and family together to play cards and eat snacks. And a good time was had by all, even with the underlying sadness and frequent phone interruptions.

One of the things that really struck me was how various people in my family chose to deal with the grieving process. Most notable was my aunt, Marlene, who went into overdrive in her role as the unofficial family historian. She spent much of Sunday and Monday trying to get as much information about Uncle Fred and Aunt Betty and their lives (including the details of Uncle Fred's military service) and writing it all down. You'd have sworn that if she didn't get it all in order right then, the information would be lost forever. But it kept her busy and allowed her to keep them alive in her heart and honor them in her own way.

To be honest, I'm not sure how I've dealt with this loss. I think that writing this blog entry is my way of grieving, in many ways. After all, the best way I can honor my aunt and uncle is to share them with the rest of the world. I just wish I had more memories to share.

One thing that I found surprising is how much it bothered me to not be able to attend the funeral services. Due to being out of work so much, I felt I couldn't afford to give up the hours I was scheduled to work last week. And as the funeral was down in Virginia, I would've had to called off the entire week. And while my boss certainly would have understood if I chose to do so, I doubt my debtors would've been so understanding when I had no money to pay them.

Normally, I don't think much of funeral services. I think they're horribly long and dreadfully dull. And I certainly don't think I get a lot out of them, personally. I'd rather take care of my own grieving and even my own goodbyes (as when I visited my grandfather's grave the weekend after his funeral) more privately. But I realize now that the one thing I do like about attending funerals of loved ones is the communal aspect. While it may not be how I express my grief best, I do like being with my loved ones as they grieve, too.

Uncle Fred and Aunt Betty, you will be missed. May your souls find peace and comfort until they return to this world anew.

In a previous post, I mentioned briefly that I was going on a coffee date. I haven't said much more about the experience, which was good, or the subsequent dates I had, which were also good. Originally, I didn't want to right much, as I felt it was more appropriate to see how things went before getting too talkative about it. And then as things progressed, I felt that I needed to spend some time with the young man I was dating talking about everything. It was important to talk to him long before I talked about him or our experiences together.

Unfortunately, things did not work out between us as I had originally hoped. This was particularly complicated by the fact that each of us made some rash choices about our time together, resulting in a lot of hurt for both of us. We've spent a fair amount of time over the past several days talking about what happened, how we each felt, and just life in general. The end result is that we've decided to just be friends, and I'm very hopeful we end up developing a strong, lasting friendship as a result.

As I sit here and think about the past week and the future, I find myself experiencing a myriad of emotions. I'd say that chief among those emotions is disappointment and a bit of longing. To be honest, making the choice of not pursuing the relationship in favor of developing a friendship was not an easy one to make. There's a part of me that longs for more, no matter how strongly I know that this is the right choice. Indeed, I found myself wondering how I'd feel when I saw him again. I found myself doubtful of whether I could spend time with him without it tearing me up inside.

I'm both pleased and relieved to say that those doubts were unfounded. Recently, I had the opportunity to spend four hours with him. And while I won't deny that there was the occasional pang during our time together, it was well worth it. Conversation simply flowed. Not the kind of superficial conversation that feels mechanical or forced, but deep and honest communication. We shared an openness with one another that was beautiful and precious. And I have to admit that I find myself looking forward to another experience like that.

As I've thought about our recent time together, I found myself asking the same question again and again: When did I get this strong? How did I get this strong? I remember being the person who would fall completely apart at the first sign of emotional let-down and take weeks, months, or even years to recover. And here I am today, fresh from a breakup, ready to take it all in stride. I'm even looking forward to a friendship, despite the fact that part of me would still like more than friendship. And ultimately, I don't feel it's that big of a deal. And in many ways, that truly astonishes me. Because I don't remember becoming the kind of person who could feel that way.

Saying goodbye to a friendship is never easy. However, I think it's hardest when neither of you really want to say goodbye, yet know you have to. That's the situation I've found myself in this week, and it's quite possibly the most painful experience I've ever had. And let me just say that coming from someone who was on the brink of suicide twice in his life and even allowed other people to convince him that he was evil incarnate for about a week, that's saying quite a lot.

It would be so much easier if either of us had done something malicious to the other. It would be easier if there had just been a fight, an argument over some sense of having been wronged. But there wasn't any such thing. Instead, life has simply gotten in the way, and we can't be there for each other right now. What's worse, there's no real guarantee of when that will change -- or even that it ever will. That's left one of us feeling hurt and the other feeling rather guilty. A bad situation all around.

So for now, we've said our goodbyes. They may be temporary, or they may be permanent. For now, I'm inclined to treat them as though they are permanent, simply because it'll make the healing process easier, I think. There won't be that temptation to go into denial about the whole thing and wait for something that may not come. If it comes -- and I hope it does -- it will be great. But in the meantime, there's work to be done. So I'll shed my tears and grieve so that I can get on with it as well as I can.

In an entry on Mutiply, I talked about my perspective changed in regards to getting involved with a guy who has kids. It seems proper to note that while I've only become fully aware of this change, the actual change process has been a long time in the works. In fact, I can trace its beginnings back as early as 2001.

Back in 2001, I met Mike, who I ended up dating for four years. Mike didn't have any children of his own, but was fiercely devoted two his sister's two sons, especially David, who was in his mid teens at the time. In fact, he was so devoted to them, you would've thought they were his own kids.

Again, this level of devotion was very attractive for me, for all of the same reasons I mentioned in the previous post. And there was the fact that Mike was devoted and close to his family in general, including his mother. (To be honest, he struck me as something of a "momma's boy" at times.) That in itself was also an attractive quality. I myself have always been close to my family, so it was nice to see that reflected in the person I was with. Of course, I also think that it was a bit of a comfort to me, as my family was becoming more distant at the time, too. So it was nice to be reminded that such closeness could still last, even if not in my family. (Fortunately, things are on the mend in my own family now.)

Of course, in the end, Mike's closeness with his family contributed significantly to the end of our relationship. This is mainly because in the four years we dated, Mike never reached the point where he was comfortable coming out to his family. This meant that he spent that entire time leading a double life, keeping our relationship safely separated from his relationship with his parents, sister, and nephews. This also meant that when his time was limited, that time was usually spent with his family rather than me. After a while, that simply became unacceptable to me. Along with other issues, I finally confronted him and ended our relationship when he admitted he was unwilling to do anything to resolve these issues.

In retrospect, I don't hold Mike's devotion to his family against him, even if it did contribute to the end of our relationship. To this day, I consider that a positive quality and something I'd still find attractive. However, I do take issue with his unwillingness to integrate his devotion to me and his devotion to his family, because his failure to do so was the real problem. To this day, that fact is something of a sore spot in my life, though I've mostly made my peace.

Through the grapevine, I've come to understand that Mike's gone back to dating girls, and has been with the same girl for at least a year now. I guess things are going quite well, at least from what I can gain from indirect sources. When I first found out about this, I was deeply hurt. In fact, I won't say I don't still feel a twinge of pain over it now. However, I've come to be more accepting of his choices, and I hpoe he can truly find happiness with this woman. After all, I don't think he'd ever find happiness with me or any other guy. Because it's become clear to me that he could never make that choice that would ultimately be necessary. So I hope he can find happiness in the choices he has made.

I know I have. And to be honest, I'm starting to realize that my new choices since breaking up with him have offered me more chances for happiness than I ever would've had with him. (I just hope that doesn't sound too cruel.)