Grapes Upside Down

54. Pumpkin Biscuits

~Madisen~

Maybe loss is like divinity...

Mysticism...

It has a lot to do with awe, and wonder, and... I don't know...

I've fallen asleep to a podcast Mama Cami sent me this morning. It's Glennon Doyle's We Can Do Hard Things, and this week's episode just happened to be about "closure."

I startle awake, gasping for oxygen. The words filtering into my subconscious have been weaving together with my dreams, and I'm reeling with emotion as I bolt upright. Rewinding the show, I take in "Sister" (co-host Amanda Doyle's) reflection on ways we might interpret the end of a romantic relationship.

"You can tell yourself a little story to gain 'closure.' For example: 'People make interesting decisions.' Or 'Relationships don't always last forever.' Or even: 'In the fullness of time, you'll see this a million different ways.'"

Glennon chimes in: "Yes! It's a way to look back that doesn't cast people in stone as right/wrong, good/bad..."

As I lie back down, their words hit me like a thick lump of lead landing on the center of my chest. Every other day, I tell myself to forget about everything that happened with Ignacio, to lock it up as one massive, stupid, naïve 21-year-old mistake and just let it go. Forget about analyzing it or making sense of it.

Yet, on the other days, I find myself rehashing every moment--the way I interpreted it at the time in my oxytocin-serotonin-induced delusions compared to the sober reality of hindsight. Except, I don't exactly know what the reality was, and I never will.

Ignacio postponed sleeping with me. Acted like his body was going crazy for me. Touched me. Stopped me before I touched him. Created barriers, excuses, moods, complications so that we were never together. Blamed it on a "lack of chemistry"--blamed me. Because, presumably, he was trying to preserve his relationship with Yesenia, the mother of his baby, his life-long best friend and intermittent girlfriend.

The nugget of truth I know I should extract from this reverie is that the intimacy problems between Ignacio and me weren't my fault. I was a puppet in a game. With a deep breath, I attempt to shed myself of that layer of shame.

It's also possible that what he said on my doorstep was true--he fell in love with me. Even as he was scheming to obtain a green card, his love was real.

But it doesn't matter. With time, I'll view this a million different ways...

It doesn't matter whether he loved me or not. The part that matters is the notion that I mistook love-bombing for genuine emotion. Because that's downright terrifying, and I never want to make that mistake again. With time, I'll view this a million different ways...

A different reality dawns on me as I suddenly remember the most important human in this scenario: Ignacio and Yesenia's unborn baby.

It's possible that he was stringing both of us along in an attempt to provide the best life possible for his baby, and his baby's mother. To get them someplace better. And it's possible within this plot that he loved me, and it's conceivable that it was all a ruse. He would be a terrific actor.

I pause the podcast, standing up to pace my room. Then I assume a yoga child's pose in the center of the floor, squinting my eyes shut, transporting myself to a different spiritual dimension. I think of Elly, my baby sister, who came into our lives because the two humans who created her, for whatever reason--reasons we will never know--could not take care of her. Elly, the light of my life, my biggest joy.

I'm not religious, but I say a prayer for that little baby in Yesenia's womb. Then I say a prayer for Ignacio to be able to heal his childhood wounds, manage his anger and love his child. Finally, I say a prayer of forgiveness for myself.