The Lessons of love - Melody Beattie

" You don't blast a heart open," she said.
" You coax and nurture it open, like the sun does to a rose."

And I might not have looked it, but I was out of my mind.

I read two poems at Shane's funeral. One talked about a mother being willing to love a child, experience all those joys, even if she must live to grieve his passing. The other was a simple message. It talked about two important things you could give a child, roots and wings. I said I gave Shane roots. Now it was time for me to give him wings. Shane's best friend, John, said a couple sentenses. Then Louie talked about how there were only two things: Fear and Love. Whatever isn't love is fear, he said. Whatever isn't fear is love.

Do these people know, really know, that it can be stripped from them in one moment? I wonderered. Everything they've worked for? Everything they value? Do they know that even if we play by the rules, life doesn't? Do they underdtand how fragile life really is?

The invisible substance called meaning had been drained from my life, and most of what I saw now looked senseless: the striving, the hopes, the dreams. The struggles. Life didn't seem worthwhile. Trying was stupid. The force we were fighting felt overwhelming, the odds not in our favor.

By the time the last patched of snow melted, I began to feel a clearer sense of change in me. A new determination arose to lighten some of the darkness that clung to me and at times still engulfed me. I had become bitter and resentful without realizing it. In the recesses of my mind, almost hidden from consciousness, was a list of reasons to be angry at almost everyone, including myself. I began deliberately working at forgiving people, trying to forgive myself.

Maybe the dark cloak of grief was a necessary garment, worn to hide and protect me while I healed. But now it was time to shed it.

The ring was Scotty's idea. He called one day and said,"I want to get you a ring. A shakespearian poesy ring. A symbol of our love."
"I dont believe in love anymore," I said.
"Lets make some dreams," he said.
"Its too late," I said. "They're all gone. I can never have them, not what I want. Its too late."
"Make some new ones," he said.
"All I have is memories," I said.
"Lets make some new memories. Marry me," he said.
"It'd never work," I said.
"Then divorce me," he said.
And he told me one more thing: Come to consciousness.