I dreamed that Sharon had broken up with me, leaving me for another guy. I was jealous and couldn't let her go. I spent the whole dream stalking her and her new man, trying to weasel my way back into her life, but she wouldn't have it.
She was living in North Hollywood, in an apartment somewhere above the Sunset Strip. I had a motorcycle, and I would cruise the strip, hoping to catch a glimpse of her when she was out and about. Sometimes, I'd drive my chopper on the sidewalk, or on the wrong side of the road, looking in every store window or passing car for her face.
After a few months of searching, I finally caught up with her at her apartment. I couldn't see her, but I heard her voice coming from inside. Her new boyfriend was also there, and they were having a conversation about, of all things, me:
"He's just the wormiest guy," Sharon said, with an abrasive laugh. "I'm so glad I dumped him. He's not half the man that you are."
Intense jealousy and rage filled my body. I wanted to go in and confront her and her new boyfriend. I couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound immature and petty. Sour grapes? No, those were the sweetest grapes I'd ever known. I just felt hurt, and I wanted her back. I thought that if I could just lay out the perfect argument, she'd come back to me. She had to. We had history.
It wasn't meant to be, however, and I spent the whole dream in a loop, repeating the process of searching for her, finding her and discovering that she'd moved on. I was heartbroken.
----
I guess I've never gotten over losing Sharon. First, I lost her a couple of times in the beginning of our relationship, when she'd gotten cold feet and dumped me. I weaseled my way back into her life with love letters and a persistent presence at the periphery of her life. If she needed help building a barn, I was there, like a good manservant, expecting nothing, but (not so) secretly hoping for everything.
Patience and persistence paid off those first couple of times. Once, when she stormed out of the house, declaring that it was over, and I ran down the street in my underwear, begging her to return, she laughed at the ridiculousness of it all and relented. I guess it's hard to resist that level of emotional commitment.
When I lost her to MS, though, it was different. She was still with me, but it wasn't the Sharon I married. She'd become this incapacitated shell, full of anger and hostility, a bedridden, demanding tyrant. Or was she just reflecting my own emotions, the resentful, hateful caregiver, angry because life had taken away the joyful future we had planned?
Deep inside, though, it was still Sharon. If I could have looked past my own selfish needs, I'd have seen the spark that still dwelt in her. Even up until the end, she'd grown immensely under the surface. Although the tree above ground, her external physical body, was dying, the root system was still intact, growing deeper and deeper, as her soul within her blossomed.
If I could just go back and have a conversation with her, I know that she'd have words of wisdom that would help me beyond measure. She was blunt, and her simple advice was always so obvious that I routinely rejected it. But it was the soundest, most directly applicable self-help wisdom that I've ever encountered, before or since.
I guess I am jealous if Sharon has moved on from me now, in the afterlife or whatever. The string of LEDs is dead. It had become a dangerous fire hazard. I don't know how it ever functioned for so long. All the little wires had become frayed and broken, and the LEDs were falling off onto the floor, leaving exposed wires dangling around. I unplugged it and took it down, but I can't bring myself to throw it away. It is still in my closet.
Maybe I will take one or two of the LEDs and try to use them for some other application. The meters in my CB have become dark, and they could use a new set of LEDs to backlight them. I can't think of a more appropriate memorial, since the CB was where it all began with Sharon and I.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.