Letting Go.

Letting Go.
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The heart is capable of many emotions, love, envy, fear, and hatred. They line up like soldiers in a row, waiting to be knocked down by fate, circumstance but rarely to be given up voluntarily. We are, after all, basically selfish unless we are saints and who can aspire to sainthood without the darkness of the soul interrupting us? So we mask our desires with worn-out sayings. "Its better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. Bullshit.
In my own case it was that old saying, " Set him/her free and they will return to you.
In the case of my own daughter the adage proved true, I wanted her to have everything I had never had, so allowing her to fly free she returned to me with a bond more unbreakable than time itself. But, in matters of love I was never wise or selfish enough to say, 'stay by me or keep out of my life altogether.'
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I met him through the local theatre society, in those days I could sing and although I was only a member of the chorus, still the thrill of appearing on stage to a captive audience made me feel special in a way that applied only to me, neither a wife, or mother, daughter or sibling. Standing in the wings, awaiting the rise of the curtains, my heart would pound and my knees tremble, but once onstage my spirit would soar to the rafters.

At that time I was thirty-four with a failed marriage behind me and a twelve-year-old daughter to bring up on my own. I wasn't looking for a romance, I'd been let down before and for once I was doing something for myself. He was just another stagehand, a boy to me at twenty-one, we had only the love of the theatre in common. So why did I allow myself to become involved with him? It started gradually, sharing drinks at the end of performances, the camaraderie of all the crew spilling over to involve everyone who helped with the performance. I liked his sense of humour, but also the shyness he strove hard to keep to himself. It was many months before we became lovers and I expected it to last a few weeks at most. I'd had a few lovers before now and he was an innocent by comparison with me.

The weeks turned into months and still he managed to surprise me by being everything I had always wanted in a partner. Considerate in bed, but also generous with gifts he could ill-afford. He knew my tastes in books, which flowers I loved, the music I adored and, of course, the theatre. For my next birthday he presented me with tickets to see a musical in London, the original cast of "Phantom of the Opera. Many more were to follow over the next few years, but it was probably that day which proved something to me. I was walking on air that day, the whole experience magical from start to finish.
He moved in with me shortly afterwards, despite my misgivings over the age difference. We were mostly happy, even though I sometimes had to ignore his youthful exuberance. In many ways it helped me to put the past firmly behind me.

I worried; of course, my daughter was turning into a lovely young girl and I had to think of her future. Bringing up a child on your own when her father never contributed anything to her upbringing had been difficult to say the least. Her prospects for university were high and I needed to work to put her through university.
I was getting older and my younger partner couldn't be expected to take over the role of the main wage earner, something he would have to do if we decided to marry and have children of our own.
The day he proposed to me was the happiest day of my life, but the future was hanging in the balance and I couldn't see my way forward. We did once get as far as the registry office but the dates we needed were months ahead and so we allowed the present situation to go on indefinitely, after all, we had then been living together for three years and what was a mere piece of paper?

In the back of my mind there were still doubts, what if he found someone younger as I grew older? My experiences as a single mother had taught me to be careful. I had already missed part of my daughter's childhood by working my way up the career ladder to provide us with a decent living, I wasn't ready yet to cast that aside. So the years went by, years when I should have been thinking about our relationship instead of worrying constantly about the future. Hadn't he proved his love over and over again?
We had even separated for a short time to allow him to progress in his career, but he came home to me after six months of loneliness.

Few people ever know the wonder of having someone who fits the empty half of you. It's a rare occurrence and shouldn't be allowed to cast away. We fitted each other like two halves of a whole; never a day went by without a light touch, just to say 'we belong together.'

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It was a perfect summer's day, a drive along the coast road until we reached the car park. From that high spot you could see the Atlantic Ocean, now tamed and rolling in tiny wavelets into the bay spread before us, a three-mile stretch of golden unspoilt sand. We climbed down the cliffs, stopping ever now and again to catch our breath on swathes of green dotted with tiny flowers lifting their heads to the sun. I had come out of the theatre many years ago, my head spinning with the world of "Phantom, taking an age to return to the mundane world. This was similar in many ways. The sights, the sounds, that feeling of being set apart from the real world, a web of pure mystery where two became one in hearts and bodies.

To his day I can still feel the warmth of the sun, the laughter echoing from the cliff-tops as we shared our picnic, popping morsels of food into each other's mouths. Lying in the shallows holding hands as the sea broke in gentle ripples over our bodies. The salty kisses shared, the way we always fitted together like spoons, his hands wound in my hair, our body forming the arch that was us alone.

As the sun began to bleed into the sea I knew it was time to end our perfect day. Little breezes eddied and shimmered as we set our way back to the car park. At the top we stopped and gazed out at the dying footprints we'd left in the dark sands. Together we brushed sand off our bodies and picked out the pieces of grass and broom caught in our hair.

Time should have stopped at that moment.

The following day I told him the news, my daughter was going to university and I needed to work even harder to pay for her education. I picked the fight on purpose, 'what about us?' he'd said. I told him we'd carry on as before. I tried everything I could to make him walk out on me, rather than binding him to me when I knew one day he'd regret it,but he knew me too well. The tears fell in streams then, the other news I had bottled up, knowing he wanted children of his own. Wasn't this what I had always been afraid of? At just forty years old I was already going through the menopause and the chance of conceiving a child very slim.

We could have talked about fertility treatment, but that would cost money we didn't have. I wasn't prepared to sacrifice my daughter's future, I became defensive and harsh words were said, things ment to push him away.
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He left for London a few weeks later. I had pushed him away knowing that if I didn't he would have regretted it for the rest of his life. How could I tell him that I hadn't been taking the pill for the last year?
That Autumn I had to let my daughter go as well. It felt like knives were cutting me in two, my heart bleeding and frost in my soul.
I carried on somehow, each day as lonely and as pointless as the next.
Why couldn't I have begged him to stay? I thought I knew what was best for him, my arrogance denying any reconciliation.

We kept in touch over the years until my heart said 'no more.' The daughter I set free still loves and confides in me. But she, like my soul mate, stays in London. I hate the city that took the two people I care about the most away from me. I see other mothers' taking their grandchildren out for a walk. I think, 'what if I had been selfish?' I wouldn't be lonely now.
It's an abyss I can't span, a darkness that often brings me to my knees.

He has children now, but he's not happy. What can I say? Sorry I didn't trust in you, sorry that I wasn't selfish and begged you to stay?
Life doesn't work that, it gives us a brief taste of what could be and if it slips through our fingers then so must it be.
Letting go is hard to do, God help the survivors.

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