A Dear John Letter for Jeff

I flew to France for Thanksgiving. It was a long held dream to be in France the day the Beaujolais was released for sale, and Thanksgiving fell early enough that the calendar worked. Bags packed, I was surprised when my son called the night before I left and asked me to a Turkey day dinner at Ellen's. He was truly upset to find that I had other plans, and immediately pinned me down to hosting a family Christmas He and his girlfriend would cook, I just had to provide a place. He told me all 3 kids were coming into town, and they really wanted a special day to reminisce.

I relented on the condition that Ellen knew she wasn't welcome to bring a date, and that I would return the favor by dedicating my company especially to the kids. I was genuinely surprised when he told me his mom wasn't dating at all, and that she was actually quite lonely. I just wasn't interested in having some guy smirking like the cat that got the cream through a family gathering like this, so I didn't pry into the why's and why not's of my ex-wife's love life. They were welcome to stay at my home for as long as they wanted. In fact, I wanted all the kids to stay at home with me rather than going to a hotel.

"Dad, Mom will feel so badly about that, us all being 'home' and she having to leave when it's over."

I mulled over what he said. This would be my family's first reunion since the kids had moved out when we all could be together. Ellen belonged there too.

"So invite her to stay also. But she will have to accept being the only one not to sleep in her 'old room.' I don't think that would work out well. She is welcome to the guest room. If you guys bring guests, they will have to sleep with you or go to a hotel."

"Thanks Dad! This will mean so much to all of us."

He was right. Christmas fell on a Saturday that year, and everyone arrived on Thursday night My daughter and her fiancee flew in from Australia, and my son and his girlfriend picked them up at the airport on the way driving into town from Boston. My youngest was with them also, as he was in college in Boston. Ellen pulled up about ten minutes before them, and I watched her sitting in her car before the kids pulled in. Guess she was nervous. It was heartwarming to see them all gathering to hug and kiss on the front yard, and for the first time since I came out of my 3 day mourning I felt a little bad about the water that had passed under our collective bridge.

The 6 of them came strolling into the front door to find a very pleasant homecoming. Of course neither my daughter or ex-wife had been in the house since I remodeled, so that in itself was a bit of a surprise. But I had put up the Christmas decorations in much the same as we had decked the halls for years. Candles, nutcrackers, centerpieces were all in place, though on my new furniture. The tree, with all the old ornaments we bought on vacation or were hand made in art class by the kids, sat in its venerable central pace. I had added a fireplace when I renovated, and a warm fire glowed with the spirit. The smells of the tree, the fire and mulled cider filled the room. Plates of cookies and fudge sat in every nook and cranny, and the table was set with the fine china that Ellen's grandma had passed along as our wedding gift those many years ago. There was no doubt that I had made our house into my home, but their was also no doubt that my home was more than ready to host Christmas for my family. My family. With all that had happened it seemed strange to consider, but they truly were my family. The kids, though grown were still my flesh and blood, and though divorced, my ex-wife had held the key to my heart for most of my grown life

There was enormous hustle and bustle as they checked out the place. I had restored the kids bedrooms to nearly the exact décor they had grown up with, with the exception of tempering the hot pink in my daughter's room to a more mature soft pastel shade. I had also replaced their old single beds with comfortable queen sets while managing to coordinate new headboards with their childhood desk and dresser sets. The spacious guest room had been remodeled as a studio, complete with a drafting table to paint by the window allow the instruments, amps and recording gear needed to music. I had expanded one side of the ground floor opening up a small library into a large room with the TV and a pool table. The living room had been formally arranged focused on the large new hearth, which had brand new Christmas stockings, one for each of us, Ellen included.

The kids noticed the stockings and froze looking at each other with a devilish gleam in each eye. As one they broke the silence and raced for their stockings. As they did I saw they years melt away from their bodies, and suddenly they were little kids again flying headfirst into the joys of Christmas. Maturity re-gained its dignity when the older two also retrieved their partner's stockings and brought them back babbling separate accounts of childhood memories the stockings brought back. It had been our cusJeff to lovingly decorate little inexpensive gifts and treats to fill the stockings before we moved to the major gifts beneath the tree. Soon they were all nibbling cookies and chocolates and trying on ridiculous novelty socks that would only get worn on Christmas days.

"But Dad, your stocking is empty! We didn't know, so we didn't bring anything to stuff it."

I grabbed my stocking from the mantle and looked inside.

"No hun, you did fill it! You are all here, reminiscing, laughing, playing. You are filling it now with the essence of Christmas. You're filling it with love!"

There were some hugs and some kisses as we all wished each other Merry Christmas. Ellen lingered in our embrace a bit longer than an expected of an ex wife, but not uncomfortably so, and for a while there it felt as if we were still one big happy family. The kids realized there were probably presents under the tree, and the giddiness of childhood Christmases flooded back in an instant. Gifts were exchanged, the feast was sumptuous, and after dishes were done, the guitars came out and we had our customary Christmas jam. It grew late, and we began to adjourn to sleeping quarters. Ellen moved to the hall closet to get her coat.

"Thanks for being so sweet to me today. I really appreciate spending Christmas Day with you and the kids. I know I have myself to blame, but of all the things I gave up, I miss the family time the most."

"Well, the kids are all grown and on their own. This would be just as rare if we were still together."

"I know. But I miss the family time you and I used to have too, you know, the family-of-two time. I guess I'm trying to finally say I'm sorry to you. I really screwed up a good life for us both."

"Don't beat yourself up! We always told the kids to follow their dreams, to be happy. You did just that! We still have good lives, they are just different now."

She looked at me incredulously, "You mean you feel that little for what we had? After today, you don't feel at all nostalgic? Jealous for what we lost?"

"Ellen, we had today, and it was beautiful! Just what is it we lost?"

"We lost each other...I lost you. And I'll never forgive myself for it!!! And you could care less!!"

She was crying freely now. I put my arm around her and she broke down completely. I had cried myself out when she left, but felt sad for this to be happening to her on Christmas day. When she finally calmed down, I reminded her that while we dated in college, she had broken up with me. She had been afraid we were getting serious too soon, and wanted some time to think if she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with one guy, exclusively. I reminded her how hurt I had felt that she left me, but that I would never want to be totally with someone who didn't feel totally devoted to me. I told her I had given my marriage one of my three day mourning periods, and come out on the other side ready to go on living my life. Today she was a beautiful part of my life, and I thanked her for that.

I was calm, and that eased her out of her tears. I invited her to stay the night, pulled out the bed in the studio, and grabbed a t-shirt of mine and a robe for her to wear around the house. I heard her sobbing when I came back upstairs after locking up the house, and didn't think she'd sleep much. I however slept like a log.

The next day was a continuation of Christmas, and Ellen was thrilled when we all begged her to stay for the entire weekend. We didn't talk about our past again while the kids were there,, but I recognized the looks Ellen used to give me when we were married. I saw the "I love you so much" and "You're wonderful" smiles. I even answered a couple of the "hug me" and "Can I have a kiss" looks. We read each others' minds like we did when we were married. At the table she'd pour her coffee and I'd add just the right amount of milk. I'd butter my pancakes and look back to see that she had applied just the right amount of maple syrup. We finished sentences. We did, however, sleep in separate rooms. The kids all left together, with my daughter planning to spend time in Boston with the boys and then head to Vermont for some skiing.

That left Ellen and I alone in the house we had bought together. I stoked the fire, she opened a bottle of wine. We sat and talked. We reminisced, we joked, and then we got serious.

"I was so stupid, so wrong, and so cruel. I know I can never make it up to you, and don't expect you to forgive me, but I do want to say I'm sorry. I want to at least be friends again. You were not only my husband, you were my best friend, my advisor, my most trusted colleague, my partner in crime.... and I miss all of you so much."

I looked at her and smiled, and the dam broke. Ellen can talk, and she wove a masterpiece of a one person conversation on the spot. She told me of her slipping into boredom, even though she now realizes she had shut me out to create the vacuum of passion we had suffered together. She told me of the excitement of meeting a flattering younger guy, and the allure of a secret love affair. She told me how easy it had been to rationalize me into a monster, when she was the one acting monstrously. Her tale was one of extreme joy in the acts of betrayal, followed by rage that I didn't fight for her, that I was indifferent and just let her go. She told how jealous she was of my life when I landed on my feet and reverted to the lifestyle I had enjoyed when we met, especially when she saw some pretty young (ah Michelle, you never forget your first post divorce tryst) thing riding in her spot on the back of my Harley. The jealousy brewed to an all out rage when she saw me with girl after girl, all offering something different that Ellen felt was superior to what she had given me.

Her emotions took a severe dive when the divorce was final, and she discovered boy toy only dated married women until they were single then dumped them. Seems he liked spending their husbands' money ever since his father, an old school conservative who strongly disapproved of his son's home wrecking ways, disowned him and revoked his trust funds. She didn't find another prospect after the break up. It seems the good men her age were either already spoken for or were unwilling to get serious with a woman who had cheated on her devoted first husband. There were plenty of men who would buy her a drink, dance with her, or climb into her bed, but there were no keepers. Younger guys were happy to date her, after all she looked hot and oozed sensuality when she wanted to flip that switch. But wanted nothing to do with a long term relationship with someone well into menopause. Makes it tough to start a family in those conditions!

I listened to her ramble until she ran out of steam. I poured another glass of wine for each of us, and handed her over with a smile.

"Yes, I guess from what you've said, you were pretty stupid. But you don't have to make it up to me. Like I said, you followed your dream, and I loved you enough to allow it."

I wish I had a picture of her face at that moment. She clearly didn't expect me to tie my reaction to my love for her.

"I did forgive you, almost immediately. How could I hold you there in my marriage when you wanted out? I couldn't keep you tied up or caged in the house. If I forbade you to do something, you'd have just hidden it from me and gone ahead. Your note might have felt cruel at first, but looking back, it did make things clean and tidy. We didn't fight over property, didn't have to worry about custody since the kids were grown. I should thank you for that!

Ok, so I'm not your husband anymore, and it may be quite a while before you call me a best friend or an advisor. Trust is definitely an issue for me, but if you want to trust my advice that label is up to you. Partners in crime might be a little bit intimate for where we are now as well, but how about if we just call us "friends?"

Her eyes teared up as she melted into my arms. She stayed another night. No don't go there, we slept apart. We just had a lot to catch up on. It seemed we were ok sharing the role of parent together again. The next day, she went home to pack for a New Year's trek to join the kids in Boston. I had gigs all week, it is a very lucrative time to be a musician. Of course the side benefit is that my mind was on my music, and I didn't give Ellen a second thought. The school term started up right after the New Year, and my new schedule didn't leave much room to see Ellen.

We next crossed paths at an in-service conference in April. We sat beside each other, and found ourselves together at a table for two for lunch. We had a lovely talk, and centered up my daughter's upcoming marriage in Australia. It seemed we were back to sharing the role of friends together.

Towards the end of the lunch she thanked me for treating her so well, both today and at Christmas. She said she was so happy we could move on as friends, and asked me if I would do her one favor. She blushed, and then hemmed and hawed a bit, and finally stammered out a request to take her for a ride on the Harley one Saturday.

"Sure!" I answered without skipping a beat. "Sunday is supposed to be warm and beautiful, and we aren't playing at all. Let's ride up north, stop for a great lunch, and spend some time in the fresh air."

She was smiley and bubbly. I was drawn to my memories of her on the bike with me when we were younger. The day always ended with an amazing bedroom romp inspired by hours of her arms wrapped around me from behind, hands roaming all over my chest and....well you get the picture without more detail. She always teased about the next time we'd go out for a ride with something big and powerful between her legs, and the motorcycle was nice too! I wasn't sure I could resist her. I was right. I couldn't. We rode up to the falls, and I felt her hands wander. We hiked to the top of the falls, and followed the long trail around through the woods back down the hill to the bike. We stopped in a quaint little town and strolled the street browsing antique shops. It was the kind of day I absolutely hated, except for the fact I was spending time with this woman who I had spent my life with seeing as beautiful in every way. Lunch was great. By dinnertime we had returned back south and stopped at a great little seafood dock for dinner. Candlelight, delicious food, the waves gently lapping at the dock, boats gracefully passing, there was no doubt she was being wined and dined. I took her home, my home, our home. I took her to bed, our bed, my bed.

Yes, we made love this time. It seemed we now shared the role of lovers together.

We saw each other for dinner and a movie the next week, and yes, we made love again. We even had lunch a couple of times. We never talked about where our relationship was heading. Thoughts of the word exclusive in any of its forms were nowhere near either of our minds.

Our daughter's wedding was right around the corner. We had discussed the details in detail, and I had been proud to write all the checks without complaint. Hey the band made some money playing all those festivals had been profitable, we had paid the mortgage off while we were still married, carried next to no credit card debt, and I was employed full time, at the top of the salary scale, and had no dependents to support. I wasn't rolling in dough, but I was comfortable and had the money in the bank. The detail we hadn't shared was our travel plans. We had each made our arrangements separately, though were both staying in the hotel where all the guests would be together. When we compared notes, we discovered we were on the same plane. I invited her to meet me at my house ad share the car I had hired to take me to the airport.

The day of the trip arrived, and Ellen came over early. I had barely rinsed out the coffeepot and turned on the dishwasher with the breakfast dishes when the car pulled into the driveway. Our driver whisked us off to JFK. Our bags were checked curbside, and we headed into the terminal together. Now there aren't that many direct flights from JFK to Sydney in a day, so the check in counter was not crowded and we entered the check in line together. I stepped up after Ellen, and the counter person asked why I hadn't taken the short line for first class passengers. I had bought a first class ticket since the flight was so long, but usually flew as cheaply as possible. I didn't realize the benefits began with express check in, and the ticket agent got a chuckle out of that. She directed me to the first class lounge. Ellen was waiting for me and we cleared security together and headed for the lounge. I checked in at the desk, and the attendant didn't question her coming in with a coach ticket, but offered the standard "There is room in first class, and I could seat her next to you. Would you like to upgrade?"

Well, go ahead and call me a pussy whipped sap for being the nostalgic pussy who whipped out his sappy credit card and plunked down the hard earned currency for a betraying ex wife's comfort. You'd be wrong. I know it looks that way, but something about flying half way around the world with my daughter's mother to attend my daughter's wedding in first class seats that folded back into a bed while she cramped in coach with no leg room seemed wrong. When we boarded the plane by rows, I made her wait with me. She was a bit annoyed, and worried that she would lose her seat to a stand by she began to work up a snit. I explained I had checked her in when we came to the lounge. Snit defused. Of course the snit disappeared entirely, but when she was seated in first class beside me, and I gave her the mother of the bride rationale, her mood changed to a degree that had me imagining mile high membership. Don't be silly, gentle reader, by now you must know public displays of affection aren't my style, especially in a cramped toilet on an airplane!

We arrived in Sydney, and the week was magical. We toured, we visited, and best of all we launched my daughter in her own marriage. I can't tell you how proud I was to deliver my only line, "Her mother and I do" to give her away after walking her down the aisle. I escorted Ellen at the reception, and enjoyed the appropriate dances. Of course a highlight of the evening was when her brothers and I joined the band to perform a rousing version of "All American Girl" as a musical offering to our little girl. After the reception, Ellen, the boys and I all gathered in the hotel lounge. One of them went right to the heart of the matter.

"So what's up with you two?"

"Nothing new sweetie," Ellen replied, "Your dad and I are just being your parents. We've put our past behind and are enjoying life. Is that ok with you?

"Yeah Mom, it just looks like more than that. It looks like you are getting close again, maaaaayyyybeeee I dunno, getting together again?"