Maybe

It was raining hard today. Eight degrees centigrade. Flooding the streets in Halifax. And they say it will be minus ten by Thursday. After the recent news of my friend Robert’s imminent death and the heavy snow a couple of days ago, this feels right. Fickle, difficult, sad.

I found myself drifting into “what if” scenarios all day. What if I had, as a friend suggested, taken Robert’s insults like water off a duck’s back, what if I had been different with him, what if I was someone else, what if he had learned from his anger earlier. Those poisonous thoughts, the "what if's," that keep you locked in the past.

He did try to make amends recently. He was being very nice. We had some good, gentle conversations. Ironically, he wanted to buy me a generator. It would have helped Saturday when the power failed. But it never happened (because of government regulations on how he used his money, being on disability and assistance). At least he knew that he had caused me much unnecessary pain. That in itself helps me. Helps him.

I once titled a painting: “What If the Moon Were Blue?” My university logic professor would always use the image “what if the moon were made of bleu cheese?” when talking about probabilities. If the moon were blue, then life would be different. If it were made of bleu cheese, the astronauts landing there would have had a very different experience. Depending on the temperature of the cheese, walking might be quite difficult. And smelly.

I’m going to visit my puppy tomorrow. (She's a month old now. I bring her home in January.) I had sent Bob some photos of her, wrote a letter to tell him I was getting a dog. He was always waiting for me to get another dog, knew I would eventually. He had been with me when Katie was alive. He knew Miranda in New York. My letter may arrive too late. I could have mailed it sooner.

Once, early in our friendship, he went with me to what had been “our” country house in the Berkshires when I was married. It was (and is) now my husband’s property. We had gone there to pick up a few pieces of furniture that I wanted to keep. Especially a beautiful old chest of drawers I had found at an antique store. I remember walking around the house, saying over and over “I should have (done this)” and “I should have (done that)” to the house while it was still part mine. I “should have” put in patio doors to the back deck, decorated the house differently, made other decisions for the future of a house that was no longer mine. Bob just said, “Leya, don’t be so hard on yourself!” Then I was able to relax and enjoy the weekend.

Could I have influenced him to take better care of himself, to go to doctors, try alternative treatments, eat better, exercise? Would we have been able to stay together? Ultimately, it doesn’t matter because it didn’t happen. This is the way it is.

By now I have very few regrets about things in my life. It’s done. I can’t change those mistakes. I can learn from them. I can try not to do “that” again. I was recently thinking of titles for paintings and thought: “You are what you are.” Then: “I am what I am.” Then I shortened it to: “You Are; I Am.” And I can’t go back and change things. It’s just learning from what has happened and moving on now.

Posted by leya at December 11, 2005 08:35 PM