Give It Away

We both thought the other was selfish and we eventually compromised on vacationing on South Padre Island, south of Corpus Christi. I felt we had compromised our marriage.

Oh, it was fun. It was a beautiful place and a great place for long moonlight walks on the beach (one of which ended with some passionate sex at the edge of the gentle, warm waves). We had been drifting apart and we did come a bit closer. Our love life had been getting a bit stale and we sure resurrected that!

Jerry had been almost badgering me to have kids. When we first were married I did too – I guess I always wanted kids – but with what was happening to us, to me really, I just couldn't take that step; make that commitment. I had this scene that would flicker through my mind like a You Tube video of standing in the rain at the side of a grave, holding a little girl and a younger boy, the three of us racked with sobs as they laid Jerry's body down for a final rest.

We were lying on the beach when Jerry brought it up for what was to be the last time. I looked at him for a minute, shook my head slightly – like saying, 'Don't go there!" – and I walked out to the water to swim ... for a long time.

But there was this melancholy sadness overlaying it all for me. I kept thinking about a book I had read by Amelia Barr, 'All the Days of My Life". A line from it has always found a place in my memories; a tidbit I could bring out on a bad day – and I was having too many of those. In the book was this line that became such a part of me:

'All changes are more or less tinged with melancholy, for what we are leaving behind is part of ourselves."

And that was really it in a nutshell. While the vacation turned out nicer than either of us expected, nothing really changed. Without fully realizing it, I had started disengaging from Jerry, from our marriage, even from our love. I would always love him but with a love wounded by melancholy. He would always be a part of me ... I would always be a part of him. But those parts would not be together anymore.

Usually if you talk to someone that had lived through something like this, they can never pinpoint the time it actually ended ... the one instant in time where thoughts, feeling, attitudes and all those things that together constitute a loving couple – those things that coalesce into a new direction, a new life that would forever make things different.

I didn't see Jerry around anywhere – I was hesitantly going from room to room: touching this memento, smiling at that keepsake, looking around the beautiful house we had made into a home together; becoming one for all time with the memories scattered around each room like faded, withered petals falling at last when the roses changed from beauty to sadness.

I wound up in the living room, facing that wall with only the one picture on it. Jerry had that picture enlarged and put in the perfect frame to exactly capture the essence of me in full bold color. The hand at my throat was perfectly placed to catch that one last ray of sunshine on that ring that had meant so much to me.

I stood there for the longest time – the photo evoking this fun recollection, that awful fight, this good time, the now too often occurring bad times – and something broke in me. I couldn't do this any more. My body slumped; I felt defeated. Almost overwhelmed with a sudden, almost unconscious decision, I stood proudly and walked slowly away from that image of another girl, a long ago love of Jerry's. Walking slowly I twisted that ring off my finger and put it in my pocket.

As I reached the doorway into the hall, I heard a noise behind me – almost a groan. I froze, and then slowly turned round. Jerry was slowly rising from the sofa. I hadn't seen him in the murky darkness of the room.

'Cindy," he started with a hurt in his voice that broke my heart to hear. He half-waved his hand at the photo and continued, 'Cindy, what happened to that girl? What happened to our love? Look at that photo. Doesn't all that this represents mean anything to you?"

I knew I had to end it – there was no easy way.

'Jerry," I started in a flat toneless voice, not loud but with a firmness that couldn't be denied, 'That picture on the wall? That picture of our honeymoon, of that night on Frisco Bay, just give it away! Jerry, just ... I don't care anymore, I won't let myself care. Just get rid of it; just give the damn thing away."

'But, Cindy? I love you. Honey, we can work it out. C'mon. I know you love me."

My head felt like it was exploding! Maybe I was a little crazy, maybe I'd always been crazy. I felt something break inside and I knew I had to get away. I ran for the front door, hesitating, hearing Jerry call out to me.

As he stood there in shock I pulled the ring out of my pocket, and with a gesture of finality I threw the ring at him.

'Jerry, that ring ... that ... dammit, Jerry, just throw it away too!" and I ran out of his life with tears streaming down my face.

ENDINGS – JERRY'S STORY

When that front door swung wide open,
She flung her diamond ring:
Said: "Give it away."

- George Strait

A part of me died as I leaned over to pick up that – to me at least – precious ring as the house echoed with the sounds and vibrations of the slamming door. I knew that for the rest of my life, whenever I heard a door slam, I would feel the pain and sadness with that memory of our door closing on our marriage, slamming shut on my love.

The next day, Sunday, I sat around drinking but I wasn't really into it. I knew that was a self-destructive approach and would only make things worse. Still, I gave it a good shot – or lots of shots as it turned out, but Monday night when I went to work I was as sober as I could be. I hadn't heard anything from Cindy – I didn't know where she went or what she was going to do. I could have called in sick but I couldn't stand the thought of being in that empty house alone. I knew this would only last a few days before she came back home.

When I got back to the house, I saw she had taken most of her clothes and her stuff from the bathroom. I didn't see anything else missing, no photos, none of the memories lying around the house, nothing.

A couple of weeks later she wrote me a letter explaining the fear she had lived with for so long.

... Jerry, I always loved you, I still do and in some ways I probably always will. I know I hurt you and it tears me up. But, Jerry, I can't live with you. I can't face that fear of a phone call in the middle of the night ... that fear of you somehow dying and leaving me alone.

I'm sorry I never talked to you about this. This is a burden I'll carry to my grave. I was wrong – but it happened. My fear ate at our marriage like a cancer. Some nights, lying in that big four-poster king-size bed, I would stare at the nothingness of the darkness – awake until sleep would steal over me like a thief in the night.

My dreams were restless; many nights I didn't get enough sleep. That led to my taking it out on you and you hitting back at me.

Jerry, try not to hate me ... but try not to love me either.

Cindy

I wrestled with my demons for a couple of weeks and finally wrote her back.

Dearest Cindy,

I thought about all that you said and I halfway convinced myself that I could change, that I could do something other than police work. But with a heavy heart I finally accepted that you understood the truth of things. I am what I am. I always wanted to be a policeman, to be in law enforcement. I can accept that's who I am and that I could never willingly give it up. I can also accept that you can't live with it.

I wish you had talked with me at some time over the years but I don't expect it would have changed anything. If we had separated earlier – or never gotten married – there might have been less pain ... but there would have been fewer cherished memories. I'd rather live with the worst of our time and love with you but I accept that you can't. I hate what's happened but I don't hate you.

I guess you want a divorce. I won't fight it. Get a lawyer and let me know what you want. I'll do anything I can and give you whatever you want.

With love and a sad goodbye,

Jerry

THE END OF A MARRIAGE – JERRY

So I'm still right here where she left me,
Along with all the other things,
She don't care about anymore.

- George Strait

A couple of weeks later I got a letter proposing the terms of the divorce settlement. I read the letter ... and read it again. I had wanted to make sure I understood everything she was asking of me – I really did want to do the right thing. But the thing was, well, there weren't any terms! She was just asking for dissolution of the marriage – and nothing else. I was sure I must be misunderstanding something.

The next morning I called her lawyer to make sure I understood correctly. I did.

Thinking about it quickly I told him to go ahead and prepare the documents and I would sign them. I just wanted a private meeting with her in his office.

A week later I walked into the lawyer's office. Per Cindy's request I had to sign the papers before I met with her. That seemed harsh to me but I wanted to talk to her, to find out why she didn't want anything of ours.

Alone in the room with her she seemed restless – and had more than a hint of sorrowful memories shining wetly in her eyes.

'Cindy, I just want to understand ... " I choked a bit and took a long drink from the glass of water on the table.

'Cindy, don't you want any of the stuff?"

She shook her head, marginally, staring at the table.

'But, I don't understand! The furniture? None of it? Not the dining room or living room furniture you wanted so badly? Not that big four-poster king-size bed I know you loved so much, that bed we shared so much of our love on? None of our pictures, our mementos of our years together?

'Cindy, you must want something?"

She looked up at me, the tear tracks sliding slowly down her cheeks telling me something ... what?

'Jerry, oh, Jerry. There is nothing in that house worth fighting for. I'm tired of fighting – we're tired of fighting. Just keep it, Jerry. Keep the bed, the rest of the furniture, the whole house, damn it. Jerry just ... keep it all.

'And, Jerry, if you don't want it - just give it away.

~~~~~~

So I'm alone now, alone in this house we had shared and loved. I'm right here where she left me. I'm in this no longer a home with all the things she doesn't care about anymore: that picture from San Francisco Bay; the big bed where we had shared our love so many times; all the shared accumulation of things denoting our time of love together.

I tried to move on – I dated several women, went to bed with one of them, but it didn't work. There would be something, a word, a gesture, a touch and Cindy would be with me again – her memory not leaving space in my heart for another.

I heard nothing of her dating – as far as I know there was never another man in her life. It was just ... fate that had pulled us apart.

Now I'm alone in this large house with a forever kind of love and no one to share it with.

That love, like everything else, she had told me to, ' ... give it away."

Well, I found I couldn't do what she wanted. I've got a nice house with a lot of furniture ... and this big king sized bed. I've got the lovely ring that Hiram made for me - and I have a broken heart, a lonely heart, a heart full of love ... and I can't even give it away.