Stomach Mourns/Circle of Care

Monday...intense weekend. Dinner with Patrick on Saturday.  Sunday, executed my three lovers plan with Lover #1, Mike.  

It's the stomach that is the heart, not the heart. When Patrick told me he had found someone special, someone he thinks might be the one, it was my stomach, not my heart that heaved. I fought the urge to go to the ladies' room and vomit. Since then, it's my stomach that's in mourning - it cares not for food. Maybe if you put your ear to my belly, you will hear soft weeping - churning as it rolls itself over and over trying to settle, trying to find comfort, not finding comfort. I won't talk much more about this - the Patrick story is old, I know - you are probably losing patience with me (Move on, already!). Suffice to say being in love is a mother fucker and the loss of it is more than we should have to bear. If I were the brave person I profess to be, I would face the future intrepidly, keep my heart wide open, "take your best shot."  I'm afraid, I'm not as strong as I would let you believe - maybe I'm an emotional coward. Next time I will run if love comes knocking on my door. I will leap from a window to escape. Patrick said, "What if you knew it would last forever - that you didn't have to endure love lost again?"  That would be different, but no one can make that guarantee and without it....?  I asked him, "If I were ten years younger than you, would you have married me?"  His response, "Without a doubt."  So, weep with me.

That brings me to my efforts at self medication - the three lovers plan. Sunday morning found me bereft, sobbing - gave myself permission to feel what I was feeling. I made plans for a long walk on the lakefront, time to sit on the beach and find a measure of peace from the rocking chair motion of the waves. It promised to be a very sad contemplative day. Then a rebellious streak welled in me - "I am Sarah...I will not go down without a fight!" I texted Mike, a new friend. "I've decided to take three lovers. Be one of them."  Nothing more - just those words. He called and then braved NATO to rush to my side. We sang to each other - he sang me almost thirty original compositions which were, by anyone's standards, really good, we made love over and over and then napped in each other's arms. My tears were held at bay. And Mike....so NOT my type. He looks like an Abercrombie model, 6'4", size 15 shoes, George Clooney handsome, a doctor, boxer, health and fitness radio personality, twelve years younger than me. I really am not drawn to people prettier than me, makes me nervous. And yet...my plan is fleshing out. I will spread my attention between three deserving men, spoiling them, being fully invested in them when they're with me, and then sending them on their way, thinking little of them when they're not around. I will most definitely NOT fall in love with any of them. Romantic love is for the foolhardy or the very brave - I'm neither.

So, the pig roast in my backyard Friday.  Mario, one of my tenants apparently has about 100 friends who were all in attendance throughout the evening. I was invited to participate but stayed upstairs in my unit and made carrot cake for the revelers. I watched the festivities from my perch - the burst of cheering as the guests watched the fire thrower throw batons of flames high into the air, the loud music played by a professional disc jockey (the police showed up to turn things down), the fire pit in the yard with singing and drumming - all of it a joy to watch. Next day, the yard a disaster and the new grass non-existent but that's OK - a small price to pay to see my plot of land filled with love and laughter and purposed so well. I adore the energy of my home these days. I am the heart - the mother is always the heart. And these days, my heart overflows with love and compassion which manifests itself by me being a person whose happiness is derived from making other people happy. I show my affection with motherly nurture and care to everyone in my loving sphere, cooking for them, folding their laundry, sitting with them, listening to them, sharing myself. All the material stuff around me is put into loving service and is secondary to the relationships. I guess what I'm trying to say is that, finally, I'm not uptight and controlling. I knew the police would come eventually (it was really loud), but I didn't try to step in and mandate things - I just let it play out. I knew the yard would suffer from being tramped on by 200 feet (hundred people with two feet), but I reasoned, why have a lawn anyway if it wasn't for events like this - the grass would grow back. It's good to be relaxed and just enjoy the ride and not worry about the stuff.

The challenge today is thinking about the idea of missing out because you're trying to orchestrate an outcome. Thinking the wisest of us are figuring out the best parts of life are the unscripted times. If we can be facilitators (resources, time, forbearance), not controllers, amazing things will unfold in front of our eyes.  These days I'm beyond heartbroken and yet I've put in place a deeply loving infrastructure. Sunday morning, Mario, still recovering from his party texted me first thing to find out how dinner with Patrick had gone. His encouraging and loving words, telling me how wonderful and worthy I am, made me feel like I live in a sanctuary. He said, "The only men you need now are under your feet!" (the two tenants ).  This morning other tenant Mark held me in his arms because he could see I was suffering. Madeleine, too, woke Sunday morning and while she had a lot to tell me about things going on with her, she insisted on hearing everything about my time with P. and the pearls of wisdom that flowed from that not-so-much-a-child's mouth were wise beyond her years.  All of this care, flowing back to me when I need it. A circle of care. Life is good even when it's bad.

Peace,
Sarah