Forever Tainted

Out of all life’s emotional throws, I don’t think anything hurts as deeply or sincerely as the sound of your mother’s tears. This is true, even when those tears are about the silliest, mundane things; when it’s something real, something tear-worthy, it’s a like a dagger in your heart.

Mom called me this morning. My father left for Ontario last week and my brother finally moved out of her house. She’s been all alone for 3 or 4 days now. So I’ve been calling daily with hopes to check in on her. Not once has she answered her phone. This morning she called me back. This morning she was straight.

I have a bit of a cold. My throat is itchy, my muscles feel frozen, and my skin hot. But today is better yesterday, and yesterday was better than the day before. During our conversation my mother talked about her own medical issues, the perpetual need to run to the bathroom. The fact that sometimes she can’t make it and had to move a bucket next to the bed yesterday is what cracked her voice, broke her composure, and brought her to tears, “It’s horrible, “ she quivered. All the while, she was insistent that I go to the doctor because I really don’t sound good. Funny that is, the words I should have been saying to her, she was saying to me first.

The tears stopped and she talked about the frustrations of having a dead battery on her cordless phone, she asked if disconnecting her internet account – because my brother moved out taking the computer with him, would disconnect his account wherever he is at as well. She talked about the bills he left behind and she asked about a solution to her laundry. All in all, she sounded good.

I told her a bit of lighter, happier things that have been happening around here. I had her laughing a little, and smiling a lot, I know. I suggested she come out for a visit, and she responded that she doesn’t want to give the children whatever it is she has. “One doctor said he thought it was Tuberculosis,” she said, “I don’t want to give that to the kids!” No doctor ever made such a suggestion. One doctor did ask if she had ever been diagnosed with TB in past as a history of it would explain some of her vitamin deficiencies. And she hadn’t. In her mind though, his was made up. And TB is what dooms her.

I’d rather listen to hear talk in circles and answer her silly questions than listen to her cry. But even as we ended the conversation she made me promise that if I get worse, I’ll go see a doctor.

I just don't. But I'm scared I'm already there.

We’ve had a few conversations. Unlike most conversations I’ve had recently, talking with him is a little different. He’s honest, he’s open, and without intent to harm he speaks bluntly. We’ve talked about perspective. We’ve talked about emotions. We’ve discussed human nature and experiences. We’ve dabbled in dreams and spirituality. Out of everything he’s said to me the words, “You’re already fucking dead,” have resonated truest.

Along with those words he mentioned my sincere wish to be dead. Though, that’s hardly the truth. I sincerely wish I was never born. I don’t want to die. There is a difference. I want to turn back time, but with the knowledge I have of life and be given the choice to be born, or not to be born. I would choose not to be born. And I bet I’m not alone in those thoughts.

If you had the choice and the laws of physics didn’t exist would you do it all again? Are the good times worth the bad, knowing that eventually it’s all going to end anyway? And what about eternity, if it exists after death or not; is life worth the chance of eternity in heaven or hell or even no existence at all?

I believe in God. I believe in Heaven and Hell. I also believe my life has been hell and what I’ve done in my life deserves an eternity in Hell after I die. So if I could do it all again and go back to the nothingness of before my birth, I would choose that.

But if I believed in nothing, if I believed after death it’s just a void like the time before my birth, what the hell is the point of all this wasted time and energy anyway? Why would an intelligent being continually take a bucket of water from one end of the pool and dump it into the other end of the pool trying to change the depth in one way or another? What temporary satisfaction is worth anything at all?

Just what the fuck is the point of it all anyway?

When I was 17 or so, I lost the love of my life. Every relationship I’ve had since then has been compared to what I considered perfect. I did not believe there were two people on the planet more compatible than he and I, and until today I still picture what he and I had as the epitome of true love.

Sure, I’ve loved many people since. It’s just that none of those loves have been as pure, as innocent, as all-consuming as the love he and I shared. We lived in a dream world. And it was a dream world we built together.

It’s been more than 10 years, and a part of me still loves him. I still think about him almost every day.

A few days ago I was talking to a friend here about relationships and love, and naturally A’s name came up. The following day I found myself Googling his name. I didn’t really expect to find anything, so when links popped up and I found him in a photograph taken just a few years back at a work function where he was handing out awards, my heart dropped, my breathing paused and I could do nothing but stare.

His hands were just as beautiful in the photo as they were when they were wrapped around mine. His face hadn’t changed. He was stunning to look at.

For an hour or two my whole world seemed to stop. I had to know what he was doing with himself. I had to know if he had ever married, if he enjoyed his job, how many of his teenage dreams came true, and most importantly I needed to know he was happy. I cried for a bit, as memories rushed through my mind and I thought of how badly I still wanted him.

I picked up the phone and called his office.

The man who I spoke to wasn’t the same carefree, life-filled, optimistic, calm man I’d fallen in love with so many years ago. He was polite and graceful as I knew he always would be. He asked about me and mine and he didn’t try to hang up the phone at the first opportunity I gave him. But the man I spoke to was miserable. He sounded unhappy beyond belief. He was pessimistic. He was broken. 10 years had taken their toll.

So many days have passed. And so many moments I’ve wondered what could have been. Yesterday, I found out. Had I been by his side today, I’d have been just as miserable as he was. Had I gotten what I’ve wanted for years now, I would not be half as happy as I am today.

When we were together, we truly shared one heart. And if I had to feel today what I can feel you’re feeling, I think I’d have to kill myself. I love you. I always have and I always will. But I think you’ve finally given me the closure I needed to know I’m better off without you.