The Thing about C....

God,

… you’d think having aged 50 years and survived more toxic relationships than I have fingers, I’d learn - right? Well, here goes another:

In the very early part of August, a picture on a dating site profile - me with my grand daughter - caught a pretty lady’s eye. Curious, she sent a message my way.

Online, C. seemed warm, loving, talkative to the extreme - but quick to assume things. She told me she was a drug and alcohol counsellor - retired due to illness. She was actively maintaining in recovery and had twenty-five years of sobriety to prove it. The fact I knew the lifestyle piqued her interest. What you see is what you get - and I liked the impression she made on me. When am I going to learn? It’s what you don’t see that sneaks in for the kill.

I was feeling my own stuff with the imminent death of my ex-wife - the mother of my children and “Gramma” to that little girl in the photograph.

I was wary. The net has been the source of a lot of heartache in me. Of fifteen starts with Internet ladies, few lived up to their promise. Though I have made some good friends, those who went beyond the first few dates all just fizzled out in the three-to-six month stretch. Masks, like rose-coloured glasses, come off when the honeymoon’s over. I didn’t think it would be easy for me to trust again. Not after so many short and hurtful relationships. There was something about C. that just felt right. We seemed like the perfect match - but all the same, red flags were there.

Assumed things - was it nerves, or a warning sign? Insanity is defined as doing all the same things and expecting different results. Was she different - or am I insane? Two days later, we met.

She was fashionably late. I still wonder if it was some kind of test. When she breezed in, I swear that coffee shop brightened! Time stood still as we talked our way through several cups. God, how we talked.... She was every bit the woman impression led me to expect - and so much more. As the day wore on, we grew with it. Never have I been to an AA meeting on a date!

The evening was young and we still wanted more. Really, I didn’t want this day to end. Singing just seemed like a good thing to do. Thing is: in this city, the only place for country karaoke is a seedy old bar. Though I felt it was risky, we went. Several times, a persistent woman - a one-time and failed Internet meet - tried for my attention. I was patient - and respectful to my lady. When C. sang, I heard the voice of an angel.

The date ended in conflict - over that drunken barfly! ...And we’d shared such a great day too.

I should have seen it in how many times she’d moved from one place to another. I should have seen it in the number of guys who have walked through her life - and it was always them in the wrong. I should have seen it when she told me their alcohol and drug abusing father had custody of her children. But most of all, I should have seen it in her eyes on that very first date when she stepped back like I was in danger close. I should have - but I didn’t.

In an e-mail, she wrote: “...I realized by meeting you that my healing isn’t finished enough to want to take a risk yet....” I knew what it was about. I wasn’t about to press her into anything. We’d only just met. Besides, she’s a lady worth waiting for.

I sent a message back thanking her for the wonderful time and the memory she created. Meanwhile, she spoke with some friends in the program, and heard things like that happen sometimes. It calmed her enough to get over the assumption she’d drawn.

We talked....

It was just a few days later when she invited me in for supper. Our conversation grew deeper as the evening grew late. In tears as she related she’d been a child of 16 when her first husband took liberties with her naïveté, I hugged her some comfort. Her reaction was more than a thank-you. I felt urgency much greater than my own - on our second date. We’re both mature - and I suppose lonely. Things moved into intimacy a lot faster than we really should have.

The very next day, her insecurity showed again. This time, it was when I made a comment about how the sun danced through a lady’s long white hair. Being artsy, I saw the artistic value - not the woman. C. saw it as something else and walked away angry. Maybe at that point, I should have just let her go. This was all new, and she was a different person. I felt I might be judging her by relationships past. It took a lot of explaining to outweigh the conclusion to which she’d leapt. At least, we could talk things out. That made all the difference in the world to me.

Though there were certain irritating things about her - like in how she interrupted and dominated in conversations, steered them off to other topics, or in her odd way of juggling the evidence to draw her own answers - I accepted her. Isn’t that just the way of a lady who’s playing it safe?

Our chats were interspersed with I miss you and I want you, hope and promise. I took a risk in asking her to be my guest at an event very special to me. She accepted. Her fibro flared up - on the day of my daughter’s wedding. She worried I’d be angry. It seemed to me she was more anxious than sore, but chronic pain is real and unpredictable. I’ve known the jitters too.

It didn’t really matter. Just over a week into a new relationship is a bit early to meet the family en masse.

It’s amazing how quickly feelings like love take root. In a matter of days, we were inseparable. I was so comforted to have a shoulder to cry on and arms to hold me when my ex-wife lost her battle with cancer.

C. laughed as easily as she cried. I liked her as she was. To find someone 49 years in age who still possessed unabashed emotion was a joy to me. Moods? We all have them. She was entitled to hers - and her opinions. Though seldom was there an apology if I proved she wasn’t right about something, she had the perfect end-all for every disagreement: Tears.

Inconsistency confuses me. Here was one very likable person, so warm and passionate, who could turn cold in a heartbeat. From the intense heights of love, she would plunge to the depths of fear and anger in just one instant of thoughtless spontaneity. What, to me, was a humorous comment about “killing” my indestructible plant when her foot touched it had her upset. She got some sort of idea I was angry with her. A playful moment where I clipped my own cheeks with her feet almost terrified her. The simple word “scold” brought on a wrath I just couldn’t understand. So many triggers!

A touch of jealous was cute - at first. I thought it was sort of flattering that she didn’t want to lose me. Okay - letters and pics on my computer from a previous girlfriend, I can understand. Given the opposite, I’d wonder too. For a while, there were legal reasons for keeping them. Only laziness left them there. It was when she started going through my computer - and finding that ex’s name on auto-fill-in forms and stuff I didn’t even know was there much less how to delete on a search engine I don’t use - my concerns were raised. C. did not easily accept explanations, and to disagree with her was “rude”. Thing is - I had nothing to hide.

When she made it clear she would prefer it if she didn’t have to see my ex-wife’s husband - someone who’d grown to be a friend and had just lost his wife - I understood. His resemblance to the father of her kids made her uncomfortable and his pain could become a problem. Still, I wondered if C. wasn’t being just a bit controlling. It was when she forbade me from accepting calls from an old friend - a suicidal girl who only ever reached out when she was getting close to bottom - I was hurt. She’s a counsellor?

I almost broke it off with her after a great April Wine concert. That ex just happened to be there. My motives for avoiding contact were misjudged. Really, I still don’t know if she accepted the truth - or the version with which I was accused. I apologized - then forgave myself.

C. lived in the city - an hour’s drive from my place. I lived in an apartment over a small town grocery store. The neighbours were loud and the stairs were brutal - not a good thing for a lady who has trouble sleeping and walking. Where she lived, the neighbours were getting to be pests. Apparently, they were playing with drugs. They were always looking for something to enable them to carry on their activities. Some dangerous people were coming around, so it wasn’t a safe place for teen-aged kids to drop in when she wasn’t home.

We were practically living together - in both of our apartments. She joked we had a country house and a city house. Where problems rose was we were constantly stocking them and running the road between them. She didn’t like to be so far from the kids for too long - and I understood that. There was a lot of packing and travelling time involved. Neither are good for fibro or heart health. It wasn’t hard to guess that musical apartments could be the source of a lot of our stress. We were both feeling it, so she suggested we should move into one place together.

I felt it was too soon. She may have sensed some doubt when she wondered if I could I really love her as much as I said. I did, and I wanted to love her for a very long lifetime. I just wasn’t ready to make that leap yet.

There was just something about how she seemed to be meddling in the kids’ home life. Sometimes, it looked like she was trying to drive a rift between them and their parents. Maybe it was something still burned on my mind from the last relationship, but I had a gut feeling she still wanted to get her ex-husband back into her life. Her jealousy toward his eighteen-years-junior wife was obvious.

Regardless, for me, there was no getting comfortable with the feeling of being controlled. If I disagreed, would I lose her? She’s already told me she’s walked out on several relationships where she wasn’t kept happy, and her son’s words: “You’re the longest any guy has lasted with her” weighed heavily.

I made a lot of “excuses” - valid reasons, really - why I couldn’t move into her place: the lease; it was too small; there was no parking. My apartment seemed better - to me anyhow. It was my safe place. Really, it wasn’t so far that the kids couldn’t easily Greyhound it if need be.

I have to admit, it made me feel “warm ‘n’ fuzzy” while C. set about nesting in my house. I welcomed her! Her charm added an atmosphere to my life I have never felt before. She knew an uninhibited freedom that I loved. For a while, that small town place was quite the love nest, but she could be so demanding too. It didn’t take long before our cuddling time was replaced by her computer time. I didn’t welcome that. Why was I getting so many mixed messages?

She went through my space re-arranging things, tossing stuff out and making room for her own. Some of that "junk" had sentimental value, so naturally I objected. That brought on disagreements, accusations - and at least twice she threatened to end the relationship. Once, she even pushed me to the point where I carried all of her stuff down to the car. That earned me a guilt trip. Incredible how she thought it seemed so easy for me to let her go. I wasn’t about to beg her to stay - wouldn’t want her to if she wasn’t happy - but I didn’t want to lose her. It was NOT easy.

Those arguments! They were over the silliest of things sometimes - what was on my computer, a picture in a book, stuff in the fridge, a bracelet, a stupid towel! So many times I felt she was a cat and I was the mouse. C. clung to whatever conclusion she’d jumped in any given situation.

One, in particular that should have taught me well happened in the aisles of a dollar store. She’d been looking for some red net stockings for an elf costume. I thought I found some. She turned to see me holding an opened thong in a classic pose. I was accused of doing it deliberately. I’d humiliated her in front of her daughter and she was embarrassed to be with me. There was no defending myself. Right in front of her kids, I had some very explicit names cast my way. That time, I did leave. The next day, I ended up being the one who apologized - again.

I know I have a stubborn streak. I’ll speak my truth - sometimes, loudly (without name-calling or intentional put-downs) but I will compromise. C. wouldn’t. It had to be her way. Silence for the sake of peace is uneasy peace. Still, there was a side to her I loved - a side that loved me. That made it all worthwhile. So, for the sake of peace, I couldn’t reach for her soul any more.

Divorce and distance deprived me of my kids. Injury took my ability to earn self esteem on a job. Heart meds mess with making love. Now, for her, I was giving up a vital part of me: Words....

She wanted me to do something about the noisy neighbours. I’d never listened for the sounds from next door. She wanted me to complain about the faulty plumbing. Older buildings do have their limitations. She wanted to see her kids more. She noticed as my performance in bed fell off. God bless her, she asked about it. I was afraid to offend her. I didn’t dare tell her how I felt about the way I was being treated. I blamed it on the heart meds and suffered in silence.

She wanted a house and we weren’t in a financial position to buy or rent one. Places came available, and we turned them down for one reason or another. I still wanted some time. She even checked into tax-sale houses in her old home town in the hope of a spring move. Her aggressive nature made me feel sort of insignificant many times, yet her persistence chipped away at my wall. Once, with her kids along for the trip, we went north to view a little house from her past. Only when I saw that light in her eyes did I believe she really loved me enough to want to share a life together.

A great deal came up on a mobile home not far outside the city. Though I still felt pushed, and I was leaving my safe place behind - I surrendered.

Her pretty green eyes glowed emeralds bright. C. practically danced in the car when she first saw it. She was so excited about it - our “Granny Clampett” place. “We’ll be those two old hippies at the end of the road.” Those prophetic words inspired me. I dropped my guard. I believed in this thing. Words are big healers to me....

This was one of those “once-in-a-lifetime” bargains - at a price even we could afford. We didn’t have immediate cash for a down payment, so she called her mother. Sadly, the same day we made our offer to purchase our “dream house”, she heard her brother was at death’s door in ICU. The magic of her “best day ever” died. There was no air of celebration on that trip north.

According to C., her mother is an abusive and controlling woman of loose morals. Allegedly, she uses money as a mechanism and favours her second family over her first (meaning two sons over three survivors from six) She seemed like a sweet ol’ gal to me. Mom said she misunderstood because only one-tenth the cash was on hand when we went to pick it up. She didn’t want those two sons to know. C.’s tears were enough to soften her. On the way home, she joked with her sister how it pays to be able to turn tears on and off at will.

Together, we cleaned, papered and prepared - in between trips to visit her gravely ill brother. I was warned not to get friendly with the neighbours. She wanted quiet and privacy. There was bickering over what went where and why. For the sake of peace, her ideas prevailed. She was so adamant about things being perfectly centred and straight - and hated disagreement. It really bothered me when she heard helpful hints and suggestions as criticism and personal attacks. Could I do nothing right?

In two weeks, the place was ready for us to move into a new life together. But, stress didn’t fade with our reduced mileage. In what should have been a time for us to relax and refresh our relationship, it got worse.

Her fibro was flaring, but she pressed on with things we had the rest of our lives to do. Her short temper showed as she fought against gravity to hang material on a wall. More than once I asked her if she needed a meeting. In a closet, I collided with her capacity for exaggerating the truth. I had too many clothes?

She stayed in touch with her kids online - always fretted about her son’s teen-age activity, the girl’s love life and obsessed about their father (her second ex-husband) and his drinking and drugging. When she lived in the city, her young teen-age daughter could come and go at will on the bus (ie: run away) whenever things “got tough” with her father and step-mother. Seems to me, she rather encouraged it. There were limits here - and C. knew that before we ever made our offer to purchase. The parents insisted it wasn’t their fault her mom decided to move so far out of town. C.’s moods grew darker. The smallest of things set her off now.

At the very beginning of this relationship C. got me to promise that I’d let her know if ever she was doing anything that worried me. So many times I tried. So many times my requests were condemned as personal criticism. So many times I was accused of doing the very things she did.

In our early days we could speak deeply about the most intimate of things. That was a large part of the attraction. Now, when we did talk, it was at a superficial level. Depth brought out the defences. It seemed like she was lurking - just waiting for me to say or do anything wrong. If it wasn’t praise, she wouldn’t hear it. I felt terrible if my honesty hurt this woman who said she loved me, and worse when I appeased her. Her anger brought sorrow. Her tears brought shame.

The romance was dying. She complained if I touched her in that way when she was in pain - and worried when I didn’t touch her in that way when she wasn’t. Once you’re put off a few times.... Seldom did we make love in the way we used to. Many nights, we didn’t even sleep together. The computer had most of her attention.

I believed her when she said the fibro was making her irritable - but she couldn’t understand why I was “getting crabby”. Once, she even accused I’d lured her to my dating site profile under false pretences. That picture of me and my grand daughter had her believing my kids’ lives revolved around me and she would be a part of it.

Something had been haunting her for the last little while - ever since we made our commitment to share a life. Was it her kids? Was it her brother? Was it her ex? I didn’t ask. I didn’t need the fight.

It came to a head about two weeks before the end. Frustrated by another of her Catch 22-like accusations, I made it clear I’d had enough of the head games. After so many diplomatic tries, I was very to-the-point when I told her I was fed up with her need to control it all. To me, it was like she looked for the bad in everything. "When does it get fair?" That evening, in tears she lamented she’d lost hope for this relationship.

A day or so before our last time together, she asked me why I loved her. For the first time, I couldn’t find an answer. I just did. That was the moment I knew we were at a crossroad.

All in all, we did a lot of things right. We were both willing to take a chance with each other. We shared dreams and let ourselves experience the powers of our love. Nothing’s a waste that makes memories, and she made some sweet ones in me. For them, I’m so glad there was C.

...But we did things wrong too. We moved too fast - from each others’ dreams to this life. Of that I’ve had regrets. In our haste, we let ‘us’ deteriorate to the point where there were a lot of uneasy silences and heated debates. My heart broke in every one of them. I know, just in my way of being honest and forthright - and as resent worked its way in, a bit too blunt and loud - she felt hurt. For that, I cry.

Sunday morning, the day before our pensions were to be consolidated, she woke up annoyed. All I said was we both do it (sleep noise) “What’s that supposed to mean?” There was no meaning. After she said it a second time, I pointed out it felt like she was looking for a fight - and got some names lobbed my way again.

I know there is one phrase that will set her off like no tomorrow. I had no intention of giving her the opportunity to use those rights she knows so well if I was to kick her to the curb – but if there could be no resolution, no compromise, or no way I could matter in this relationship, it was time to call it quits. I gave her something to interpret as she wished when I said: “Yes dear.”

She stayed in the bedroom for most of the day. That evening, she said she was leaving. To her credit, she did acknowledge that she knew she’d screwed up with a clichéd: “It’s not you: it’s me.” and: “I’m sorry I hurt you.” It wasn’t clear whether she meant do or did - but by now, it really didn’t matter.

She told me she wanted us to start over. She wanted a place of her own but didn’t want me out of her life. Her story was she’s too far from the kids out here. That’s a line I won’t dare cross. Though I could see there was a lot more to it, I only half-heartedly tried to reach her. What’s the use? She wanted - and I wasn’t happy with what stress was doing to me - and us. I guess it shows in more ways than just the obvious.

Monday (Nov 27) we went in to Disability. She’s made that first payment so I was sort of screwed for this month. Yes, I was upset - but more so devastated because I’m sure I lost a huge part of a dream come true - her. Her last look back - to my one last sad “I love you” - wasn’t through the eyes of a C. I’d ever met.

Money is only money. I got a partial cheque and a clinic doctor will script me for the medical requirement. I still have receipts from the move, so I can get a community start-up. It took a bit of humility and a few phone calls but arrangements are made to cover the bills. I won’t lose this place - but now I live in it alone.

Heart health and stress aren’t a good combination for me. As confusing as she can be, lonely is worse. Tuesday, I spoke to someone from the program, then a counsellor on the phone - and Thursday, I had a home visit from the crisis centre! Turns out he knows her....

He was good about it - kept it on me. We talked some stuff about how alcoholics’ minds work, and why they act the way they do. The saddest part was: it described our relationship in living colour. Chaos! She has twenty-five years of sobriety, yet without her Power, the behaviour drives her. Its inconsistency managed to push the right buttons and drill deep enough to touch anger.

We spoke quite a bit about my emotional state, the stress, and what was it doing to my health? He told me some places to get help, and I am looking into some anger management and grief counselling.

Friday night, C. called. She made sure I knew she was a lot happier now because everyone there agrees with her. To her, being right is more precious than honesty. I never was a “yes” person. We spoke again about starting over and moving slower when it’s not shaded by yesterdays. God, how I prayed we might do it. Yes, it could be difficult - but with some counsel.... Neither of us is perfect.

From my heart, I recounted things that have worn me down throughout the relationship - with a hope hers would hear. I heard another denial. Naturally, none of her own behaviours had anything to do with it. It was put onto the fact I’d quit painkillers - then on yesterdays that were dealt with and resolved long ago. She made me aware, in no uncertain terms, that she didn’t have to do anything. The issues were all my own and if I expected to work things out, I was the one who had to change.

An AA friend found her an apartment so she would be moving into it in the next week or so. I promised I wasn’t going to give her a hard time when she came to get her stuff. I’d even offered to let her store it here. My word is solid. I keep it to the best of my ability. I told her someone said that I should change the locks, make her prove it’s hers and claim it was abandoned - and that I answered I want things to be on friendly terms so, no. I won’t do it to her.

It may as well have been bait - and she went for it. I’m real sorry for that - not for the trap, but for what I learned. I wish it could have been something in me, for now I know I can’t fix it. She stuck to the pattern and fixed on the bad. I tried to explain. It went unheard. The browbeating I just took about browbeatings I took came right apart in a threat she was coming out with proof, witnesses and cops. It proved what I saw all along and what the counsellor told me about a “dry drunk’s” behaviour. They are the same thing.

Saturday evening (Dec 2) she left a message stating that I had to bag or box anything I could and I had 24 hours to bring it to G. House or she was coming out with the cops. I’m sorry it had to be this way too.

I called the shelter and told the lady on the other end about last night’s call - how C. heard the bad, shut me out, jumped to another conclusion, and that trait is the reason this relationship failed me. Then I called the police and told them they would be getting a call. “She left. She can come and get it herself.” The cop seemed to believe it was fair - as long as there wouldn’t be trouble.

I wasn’t going to that shelter. It would hurt too much to see her. This pain is too fresh and I still have big feelings for her. I should have let her come out with guns blazing, but I didn’t want her hatching ideas I’d ever be mean to her. I still loved her - still believed in her - still had some faith in her. Why?

Sunday (the 3rd) I took some stuff to her sister’s. She wonders why I stayed with C., having seen the way I was treated a few times.

In a phone call with one of her long-time friends on the very day she left, I mentioned that C. is terribly insecure and can be very abusive. It came as no surprise. A lot of what I lived with her was confirmed in our talk. “She’s done things like that all her life.” I know she’s just walked out on other relationships too. I’d heard it from her and from several people very close to her - so it’s not just me. Common among all of them? “She’s a bit too sensitive”.

“I want us to be happy.” Those are C.’s own words. For there to be an ‘us’, we both need a voice. I needed to matter too. “What’s that supposed to mean?” or “You’re telling me....” I felt like I was being analyzed, interpreted, manipulated, lead to a witness stand confession and forced into another apology for something I didn’t really say or do. I heaped anger on me for feeling beaten down and damned to silence by the very person I wanted to spend a life with.

She said she loved me, but I felt treated like a threat. She was afraid I would leave her, but I felt her pushing me away. “When I want your opinions, I’ll ask for them.” That hurt me. I wonder what her feelings might be toward: “Children should be seen and not heard”. To me, it’s the same thing. Nothing was resolved. It was dismissed for the sake of peace. Why was I getting crabby? It kept happening. After a while, tension creates strain. Then, the cracks appear.

Don’t get the impression I was entirely the victim in this. The signs were there. C. may be a bit too aggressive, and I too easy-going, but I’m not blameless. I loved her. I didn’t want to lose her. I guess, in trying to make her happy, I let her run all over me. I should have been stronger in my resolve when I walked away that first time. I knew she wasn’t about to change her behaviour. I was the one who went back for more.

Though I never resorted to name-calling, I didn’t candy-coat the truth either. At times, frustration got the best of me and I shouted it. That makes me guilty of retaliation - and I hated myself for it every time. It wouldn’t be fair to pass blame onto C. for that.

Three weeks to the day after she left (Dec 18) came one of those “eureka” things - in a very dark and tragic sort of way. I got the word from C.’s son when he called about her stuff. She’s in the hospital. Apparently she lost it, turned violent and the police got involved. Tears stung these eyes when I heard a shaky-voiced “I’m so sorry” from a young man who really shouldn’t have felt a need to apologize.

C.’s sister wants nothing more to do with her. From her, I heard things that might have disgusted me - considering morals to which C. made an appearance of living. They came from hurt and yesterdays (but sort of answered some unasked questions about her sexual past) She has a long history of using people and running away. I heard about deaths in her family that C. has never come to terms with. Come to think of it, C.’s “this is the best day of my life” ended when her brother came close to death. People in hiding are not easy people to deal with. It will be a long recovery, if only she’d accept the help. I made sure her son knows I’m here.

She had me believing I was a monster. Guess I have a lot to learn yet. Counselling is scheduled for me in the new year - grief and anger management. My hope is I’ll learn how to stop falling in with that sort of lady (0 in 16 for me now) - or how not to tease her tail should it happen.

December 28, a month-plus-a-day after she left, C. showed up to collect most of her furniture. Her eyes lit up when she looked about what was to be our home. She smiled and I heard the song in her voice when she said: “I love this place.”

She held back in telling me anything specific, but she did spend a week in hospital - and was, as they tend to deem it, unco-operative. Apparently, she’d dumped her meds and made threats to sue if they put her on anything addictive.

She still wants to believe withdrawal from codeine was altering my mood. I can’t get her to understand that just because I had script doesn’t mean I used it. This province can’t accept pain without painkiller. I did 28 days in rehab to break free from the addiction. In the past 11 years, I’ve managed without them for all but the worst of pain. She even saw as I disposed of several months’ worth of T3, so how can she blame the codeine?

She asked if I’d been going to meetings. Yes - I do know the lifestyle. I respect it as something that may work for her and I would support her fully if only she’d have said: “let’s go.” Did she have to assume it was my life too?

Despite what she tells me, I heard from her sister and one of her friends C. had no intentions of trying work things out. She just needs to keep me co-operative - and she’s saying I was manipulative? She’s saying I was abusive. There’s no denying I raised my voice - and yes, as the hurt grew deep, I yelled. I won’t try to justify it. Losing control of me is my shame. I’m sorry it happened - and sorrier she’d even think that way. If having opinions that differ from hers is the same as abuse, then I’m guilty as charged. Guess if it’s what she needs....

In putting this “shield” together, there have been many opportunities to weigh out the ‘goods’ and ‘bads’ in this relationship. I know some self-centeredness is vital to the recovery process. Hers borders on narcissism - in just about every way. It’s pretty sad when the ‘goods’ are eclipsed by a total lack of communication. All I’m left with is pretty and good sex - against a mountain of heartache. I just don’t want to be steamrollered any more.

December 29, I took some of the stuff she’d left behind to her friend’s place - the friend who pulled strings to get her the apartment. She’d already noticed C. tends to make a story a lot bigger than it really is.

December 31, C. called to thank me for bringing that stuff. She doesn’t know when she’ll be able to pick up the rest of it and she’ll talk with me when she’s dealt with her brother, her ex, her mom and had some time to get things resolved within her own mind. This isn’t easy on me - but I wonder if I can trust her. I mean - she told people I abused her. What else could she pull to get attention?

January 10, C. called again. She still can’t get anyone to bring her out to pick up the rest of her stuff so would I mind bringing in more. That friend who got her the place is “off doing her own thing now” (avoiding her the way it sounded) and her sister still won’t have anything to do with her. Nobody wants to do something for nothing - not even for her. Her response was just dead silence when I mentioned that coffee or ‘us’. I told her I going in on the 15th, so I’d take some in then. She gave me her number so I can let her know when I’m coming.

January 11, I was going in that way to get a tire fixed. I wouldn’t be more than twenty minutes from her place, and it was warm. I left a message offering to bring in her plants and a couple of boxes. She called back and said I could keep the plants but there was a bunch of stuff she “needed badly” - including half the canned goods in my kitchen! She already thinks she should have the freezer because she has kids (who don’t live with her) and her neighbours can use it too.

I know her greedy side. She’ll go into the Salvation Army or the Mission and take all but one loaf of bread, simply because it’s “free”.

Then she wanted to know how long I’d be. I didn’t know. How could I? It all depends on what the guy has to do and how many jobs he has ahead of him. She refused to wait until after her Al-Anon meeting because she “had to get some sleep” and demanded a time. That’s like asking me to predict the future. “I don’t know” wasn’t a good enough answer. She started to get angry. “Oh just forget about it. I’ll get some....” I wasn’t buying into it. Why was she pushing for a fight? I just ended the call.

Why is it my problem if her life’s not going the way she wants? She got more funds than I did when this thing died. I do have this too-soft heart though. I won’t see anyone go hungry, and started feeling bad about hanging up on her. I left another message that I’d come in today (Friday)

C. never returned the call....

February 1: Tonight, C. called to tell me she was coming to get the rest of her stuff on Saturday. It didn’t matter if I had plans. As usual, what she wanted had priority. I know I promised I wouldn’t give her a hard time, but she’s carried this to an extreme. She treated me like I was dirt when I offered to bring stuff in and tried to make me feel like I owe her something. It’s been here for over two months now, so I think it’s fair to ask for some storage - considering how she left me with a maxed-out credit card and short-chequed with all the bills to pay when she walked out. She said we’ll talk about it on Saturday.

Why couldn’t she just leave good enough alone? It was easy to guess she expected another freebie. A sincere “thank you” might have been payment enough. Moments later, she called back to say she’s “...just going to let my new boyfriend handle you.”

Really, it doesn’t surprise me if she entertains a number of callers. There were red flags aplenty about that too. It saves her from dealing with herself. I empathize with anyone who enters the chaos of manipulative deception called her life. Pretty and good sex just aren’t enough. No - it wasn’t jealousy. That door closed shortly after I realized she was using me too. Coming from someone with an unstable mental history, I consider her words to be a threat. I feel a little bad that the police had to get involved. What choice did she leave me?

Monday (Feb 5) Final contact with C. I took her kids video tapes, her jewelry box and some other personal items in to the apartment building where she lives. When she came to the door, there was a look of real sorrow and shame in her eyes. If I read the body language right, she wanted to talk (or more) I didn’t say a word - just handed the package over. Surprise of surprises, she said thank you. I didn’t even look back when I walked away. (Okay - within me, I cried) At least she’ll never be able to say I’m heartless.

Anything from which we learn is a valued lesson in life. From her, I learned the true worth of boundaries. In being a part of her pain, I learned the line between empathy and sympathy is a too-easy one to cross. It is sad to realize that a heart like the open prairie is a target for users - but it’s a darned good thing to know in a world full of them. The four months we shared weren’t wasted.

In the real sense, C. is no longer a part of my life. I chose to close that door - and another is opening. I care, and probably always will - from a safe distance. One cannot have loved without knowing empathy. Really, the hurt is for her for I know she’ll never know the happiness she seeks without admitting to herself she is human and very capable of screwing up.

Today, I am being counselled to grieve for, then step away from her and yesterdays. Today, I am learning to curb my instinct for retaliation. Today, there is hope, where with her, there was little. Today I have forgiven the person who most needs to be forgiven - ME. That can only make my next relationship a better one.

I suppose I’ll always love her - in an unconditional sort of way - despite what I know. I’m told she thought the world of me. What really happened in her is something I guess I’ll never know. I pray she understands I can only be sorry for my part in what happened to us. Forgiveness is such an easing thing to do. She can’t abuse me any more.

C.’s last words on that phone message were: “I’m going to do what I need to do to take care of myself.” I hope to you, God, she does....

Amen