make-it-fireproof

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.

After they broke up, she continued to send him things in the mail occasionally. Nothing big— CD’s she made of favorite music, new books she read and liked, small stuff. She did it simply because she thought he would like them too and she wanted to share them even though they no longer had contact. Just a nice thing to do. According to the rules of romance you’re not supposed to do that after you’ve stopped seeing someone, but who made those rules? She had loved him and they were very happy once. Wasn’t that reason enough to send things now and then that she believed would make him glad? They had gotten along so well when they were together, she was certain he would understand now why she did it. I liked this and I think you will too. I remember the things you liked. That’s all. Nothing more or less. I hope you enjoy it. But he didn’t understand. Eventually he wrote her a short curt note saying “I don’t know how to feel about these things you’ve been sending me.” Once they’d told each other essential secrets about themselves and confessed to weaknesses they had tried to hide from the rest of the world their whole lives. For a short blessed time, they’d felt both safe and at home with one another. Despite that intimacy, now she had become only a stranger bearing gifts and of course we should always be suspicious of them.

One of the saddest realities is most people never know when their lives have reached the summit. Only after it is over and we have some kind of perspective do we realize how good we had it a day, a month, five years ago. The walk together in the December snow, the phone call that changed everything, that lovely evening in the bar by the Aegean. Back then you thought “this is so nice”. Only later did you realize it was the rarest bliss.

We exchanged words, but as people who had barely ever known each other. It was a spoken confirmation that things had indeed changed — that we had let one another go, out of necessity — and that the parts of ourselves we needed to erase to move on were just going to have to be forgotten. Of course, you never really forget anyone, but you certainly release them. You stop allowing their history to have any meaning for you today. You let them change their haircut, let them move, let them fall in love again. And when you see this person you have let go, you realize that there is no reason to be sad. The person you knew exists somewhere, but you are separated by too much time to reach them again.

Miss someone until they come back, or until you come back, until their absence in your life becomes something to be avoided at all costs.

Miss them until you don’t have to anymore, until you’re reunited in your favorite booth in your favorite restaurant ordering your favorite meal, miss them until it feels like you never left.

Or miss them until you can’t anymore, until the things you miss are identified and cataloged as things and not a person, until you figure out that easy company and long talks and unblinking, all-knowing eye contact will find you again the way they found you the first time.

Miss someone until you don’t.

God’s definition of what matters is pretty straightforward. He measures our lives by how we love.