For J…
Thanks to Don Henley for The Heart of the Matter, a song that encompasses everything I’m feeling tonight.

They're Watching Over Us, Baby!
It’s been a long day, a long week. A long year. I’m reeling. Once again. Just when I think I know the direction my life is going, just when I think I know the outcome, I’m thrown something new.
I am being a bit obtuse, I realize, when I simply allude to a new direction, a different outcome without actually specifying what that direction might be.
And Keegan & Lynn: I know when you guys were students, I always told you – go for the specific. Show, don’t tell. And here I am violating what I taught. Ah well, let’s just say you should do what I say not what I do.
But neither the new direction nor the possible new outcome is important right now. What is important is the reeling. Not bouncing feeling to feeling, but reeling. In my mind. Not my heart.
Because it seems that overnight I have slid into forgiveness. Acceptance.
And that’s huge.
And it’s not that I’ve entered into forgiveness because anyone’s called me up and said, “Gee, Maureen, sorry we called you a thief.”
It’s more the recognition that when people are pushed, they say pretty awful things, behave in pretty horrible ways.
I include myself in that, by the way.
Really.
And I am reminded of an email I sent WH at the end of August in which I told him that I loved J and that I couldn’t live with him, and that was a tragedy. And then I mentioned that a tragedy should be met with compassion.
That was aimed at him, but now I’m realizing that this is not solely my tragedy but J’s and J’s family, as well. And that I need to treat him and his family with compassion just as I’d wanted to be treated.
When I start forgiving, when I start holding J’s family in my heart, when I start feeling compassion for everyone involved, I become overwhelmed by the scope of this particular tragedy.
For every single person involved.
For J.
For his family.
For myself.
For my family.
It is a tragedy.
A tragedy that offers no catharsis.
My therapist told me the other day that I seemed to be hoping for a happy ending. It was an odd but astute observation.
I never thought I was hoping for a happy ending. But I am.
I’m hoping to find once again the man I met the end of November 2006, the one who wrapped me in his arms and said, “See. This isn’t weird.”
I want him back.
And I imagine his family wants the boy he once was back. The happy kid I’ve seen only in photographs.
Neither of those scenarios is likely to happen.
And that, as I keep saying, is a tragedy – the scope of which I’m just now beginning to realize.
To grieve.
And ultimately – I hope – to accept.