“My love of [you] is in me, moving in my heart, changing chambers, like something poured from hand to hand, to be weighed and then reweighed.” –Sharon Olds, “High School Senior”
I build the version of you that I love inside of me, even though you’re right in front of me. I think everyone does, often without knowing it, and they get upset when that inner version disagrees with the truer, fleshier version, which has the advantage of being incarnate but is, quite frankly, unknowable, unstable, and unpredictable. I get upset, too, like anyone, when I am stung by disappointment or surprised by some mismatch between the working model of you that I carry within me and who you are being, to me, right now.
But even in the worst and most devastating of partings, the consolation prize is incomparably valuable: a new imaginary friend, made out of the best parts of you, that can walk with me for the rest of my days, saying exactly what you would say and doing exactly what you would do, were you ever and always your very best self.
The beauty of you, the things you do well, your areas of mastery: they are mine now. I have not stolen them from you, but I have copied them over months and years, and I will faithfully keep them on file.
I know the joke you would make, here, and it makes me laugh. I know the advice you would give, here, and it calms me. I stand up for what’s right and you agree with me, and even if no one else can see or hear you, it makes me stronger; it lends me power. Long after you are gone, your companionship remains one of my most treasured possessions. You let me see myself; you keep me company; you remain my true friend.
Regardless of where the real you has gone next, regardless of the harm you will do or the mistakes you will make, you are safe with me. I protect you in defiance of the things that are wrong with all of us, the things that we cannot help, and it is an honor to be your steward.
You are the smirk on my face as I walk alone, on the sidewalk. You are the rueful shake of my head when I make that habitual mistake, the one you hated, you know the one, and then I have to laugh, because oh my hell, it drove you nuts. You are the smile around my toothbrush in the morning, punctuating some passing thought that touches down to rest with me for a moment, a welcome visitor, before flitting away again. You are my party anecdote, a man made legend, and deservedly so. I share you, and in that sharing, your past efforts–those valiant efforts that nonetheless could not fix what needed to be fixed–can now at last be made victorious, as a toast, as a punchline, as a celebration.
Loving you has made me more than myself. It has made me us.
And despite my hopeless humanity, I will try, upon our meeting years in the future, to have lived up to those good parts that you kept, so that you can recognize me, the way I promise to recognize you.
17 Comments
Beautiful. I love this.
Hello, Jennifer.
This. I have thought this and felt this but never could have put it into words. Thank you for doing that for me. Beautiful.
This is beautiful. That is all.
I’m not a big crier, but this post made me ugly cry for the entire half-hour subway ride home. In a good way, I think.
This is so beautiful. If the writing in your book is anything like this, you have nothing to worry about.
Thanks, guys! And Erika, the funny thing about my book is that it’s a completely different project from this blog. I keep wondering if anyone who reads me will like it, because it’s definitely a different genre!
For what it’s worth, I’m the opposite of most people in that I consider what I do on my blog to be much more important. The book is just supposed to be entertainment. Here is where I tell the truth.
This is incredibly moving. Thank you for sharing it.
It doesn’t make it hurt less, though. At least that’s what I’ve found.
Thank you. Just thank you.
“I know the joke you would make, here, and it makes me laugh.”
At what point, in your experience, is it a laugh? Right now, I think of the joke my soon-to-be(maybe?)-ex would make, and feel sad and wistful; like it is not ok to laugh. But I hope that day will come. We shared far too many jokes together for them all to be forbidden.
Beautifully said, friend.
The positivity of this sort of punched me in the face, if that’s something positivity can do. Maybe because it’s still hard for me, to reconstruct a version of him that isn’t destroyed by everything that came after our best of times.
Amy: I actually wasn’t thinking of Jeff when I wrote it, at least not specifically. It all holds true, of course, but I was speaking generally of so many people I’ve known. That said, I think it took me a good six months to a year before that silver lining really came out.
I also cried when I read this…it’s been three and a half years since my ex and I split and this completely reminds me of him. Finally started coming around to remembering the good stuff, surprisingly recently…thanks for articulating these thoughts.
Lovely. I wish I had thought to express it this way…it makes it so much nicer a sentiment than always expecting the best from someone.
This is one of the most beautiful, and true, things I have ever read.
I love THIS and I will carry it with me and build up on it.
You really got me with this one. It’s as if you wrote what I didn’t even realize I was feeling.
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