Ever-present, in my mind

You were never really here. That is true. Fact. Actual. You never set foot in Canada. I only set foot in Africa. (And not even in your country of origin.)

We met in a conference. A religious one, at that. I am not religious now. Did you know that? I’m not sure that you know, but maybe you can guess, from my Facebook posts. I am still spiritual, though. Deeply spiritual. And that is part of the problem. You see, I still feel you. I still feel your spirit, your soul… on occasions, touching mine.

Okay, I know it sounds creepy or extra-terrestrial, or a bit too hippy or ‘out-there.’ But it’s not just you it’s happened with. It’s also with friends and family who have passed on. So, there’s that, I guess – as proof that maybe - though you have never really been here - you have always been here.

Well, I’ve always thought of you. It’s been over thirty years now. Thirty-five, in August, but who’s counting, as they say?

You approached me, with a traditional outfit, as a gift. It was green, with red and brown spots and black embroidered lines. It had been custom-made for someone of your smaller stature. But, I put it on, and wore it, and you and I were both pleased.

Then came the evenings together, in the dark, on the lawn outside the conference rooms. We were all staying on a campus-like compound, out in the middle of the jungle. In a presidentially-controlled area, with government soldiers standing guard with machine guns in-hand.

It was a pretty normal setting for you, but my senses were heightened.

Sometimes I see your image flash across my mind, when I am shopping, at Walmart. I look over at the skyline of box stores and parking lots, and see, across the cloudy sunset your image… smiling at me. I feel your hand again, in mine. And I feel both loss and love radiating through me.

I remember your letters, coming regularly at first – every 3 weeks or so. Then, it was every 2-3 months. I kept pace with your pace, not wanting to seem too eager or more invested in ‘us’ than you were.

Then, there was a space of 6 months which stretched into almost a year.

We had promised, each other, to marry, after I finished university, and you received your degree in theology. But this was at a time before cellphones and the internet. ‘Snail mail’ was all we had, to hold us together. And when you broke your silence, one year later, I had already left you for someone else, because I had come to terms with – the awful and ugly terms – that you had left me, for another. That you were no longer interested. That I must have misunderstood and been the fool.

But what I had not understood was that sometimes African commitments are quiet ones which cross years without speaking but are still expected to run true. I told you the truth – that I thought you’d abandoned me.

I waited those painful weeks – 10, to be exact – until your reply came.

You laid it all out – what you had neglected to say before. You were being forced to marry, by your college, before graduation at the end of the month. You would be marrying. It would happen in 2 weeks. You had appealed to the administration, for a time extension, but had been rejected. And you had chosen another student, at the college, to be your bride. You would always love me.

How often I think about this – though I’ve suppressed it, many-a-time.

I told my first husband about you. He understood, because he too had once been engaged and things had ‘not worked out.’

After that marriage ended in 3-children-and-divorce 13 years later, I told my second husband about you. He too had had issues with lost love – haven’t most of us? – and we dropped the issue. (Two more children and 8 years later, and we parted ways.)

But I couldn’t not hear from you again. You see, I hadn’t had my chance to ‘have my say.’ You had made all the decisions which were to affect both our lives. You had decided to end it and marry another, without me ever having been given a chance to come be with you. Not like I could have, easily, in those days… when travel was so expensive, and going to Africa felt so far away as if one were planning a trip to the moon.

Things change. (Even space travel is more accessible now!) Now, you are only a key-stroke away, yet I can no longer talk to you. You are still married. (Despite what I read-between-the-lines to be a less-than-ideal situation, your choices must be respected and upheld.) Yet, you are still in my heart. (And the Universe seems bent on making sure I can never find another love connection. Synchronicities, invisible walls, and just plain disinterest forces me to believe that something else is at-play.)

One doesn’t get over loves like these, I’ve come to find out. One just lives with the pain of it.

I finally found an image that I can use to describe this particular pain. On Facebook, a post said that archaeologists have discovered an ancient skeleton that had a spear embedded into the rib bones. The bones had grown around the spear… embracing and protecting itself from the pain. The source never left. The body carried on.

And that’s what I must do. Even though, sometimes I feel your eyes smiling into mine... sometimes, I picture you seated on the passenger side of the car, along for the ride... (and sometimes I must admit, I wish you were laying beside me). I must carry on. But it is easier said, than done.

I know you’re still married to her. I know you’re successful in your career. (I know my own life has been a series of muted disasters. I have been less than an ideal housekeeper. I have had two failed marriages. And yet I’ve tried, every time, to make it work.) And there is no telling whether you and I would have ever worked, anyway. I guess there will never be a way to know, for sure.

So, I must live with this ‘ghost,’ this spiritual connection that you and I have acknowledged – when we first reconnected online after decades had passed (ah, what a passionate virtual embrace! and choice words exchanged revealing eternal affection). But I must continue to try to ignore these images and feelings of you - for your own good and my own survival.

Yes, you come and go, like vibrations on the wind. I just have to look into my memory, for a split second, and you are there. Waiting, ever-present, ever-valued.

There is no escaping. God knows, I’ve spent the last 8 years actively trying! (If poems are any indication… I’ve written well over 1000, so far... it is a losing battle.)

This soul connection we have, between us, is the spear in my side that I just have to bear. It is something that cannot be extricated. Like part of my structure, you are, forever, part of my soul.

And though no one else sees you, you have always been here, with me… even though you were, unfortunately, never really here.