Salty and Sweet

Who doesn't love a salt and a sweet together! It is incongruent that their pairing would bibe well on anyone's taste buds. I've often wondered the science behind that taste home run.  If you've ever eaten too many sweets, to return to a sort of body equilibrium, something saltly must be eaten. Might I suggest two of the most unlikely foods to combo - watermelon and bacon.  Very symbiotic. Very.

There are many things in life that somehow defy reason and do best in combination with something else. Better yet, they need the opposite to create their best self. Rainbows are like that. What has to occur to create a rainbow is the complete polar opposite of the beauty that is a rainbow. Those combos are life in general. Opposites co-exist, and many times, they are dependent upon the other.

That was me. Pain drives us deeper. My great loss of love, my grief, my inability to file it away pulled me deeper in to God. Without conscious thought I knew there was healing, a balm, a spring, a way to be sustained in the midst of heartbreak by speaking and acknowledging God's presence around and in me. My humanity, even at its worst, sought the God who made me. 

Maybe because there was this matzo ball of unreconciled loss that I couldn't make sense of, it was easier to not have to have God all figured out. I was ok that I didn't understand all His mystery. I only just knew that God was with me in it. That somehow my opposite from God life and God Himself could pair together. He was the watermelon to my bacon. I never sensed condemnation from the Almighty about my current choices or my inability to seemingly move out of the grief pit. I only sensed great love and closeness, much like when we care for one of our own sick children. Simply put, God was just in the swampie, shards of glass I was mired in.

As he drove away, down the road away from me, something quite simply died inside. I watched his car through the window of the garage as it slowly drove away from me. I stood transfixed, screaming silently, willing him to turn around until his car stopped being visible. I collapsed on the garage floor in sobbing, snotty heaves. I was broke.

I waited both for him to call and for me to stop waiting on something I knew would not happen. Waiting is agony. Period. Always. No matter what the wait is for. Waiting caused me to have a constant dialogue in motion; Did he feel a loss at all? Would he come to his senses? Did he love me? Why did he think doing what others wanted was his best choice? Had I interpreted our relationship wrong? He seemed to want me to talk him out of marrying her? Why didn't I? I felt most like me when I was with him, like he made the best parts of me bigger, did I do that for him? I cannot imagine ever feeling this again with anyone else. He will call, right? Something this big and cosmic just can't end. 

I'm pretty sure my parents sensed something was not ok with me. I went on dates, but never a lasting relationship. I didn't want one. My dad thought I needed help in the date arena and jokingly asked a table of single guys at our local pizza place if any of them would take me out. I was standing right there. If the floor had a trap door I would have opened it and disappeared. I didn't want those guys. What I wanted I couldn't have. I hung my head and laughed as my dad spoke so as not to give away my pain.

I'm sure my dad thought a good man might make things better. As a parent myself I understand where that came from in him. I felt loved deeply by his somewhat misguided gesture of care. One of those young men did call and ask me out. I declined whole heartedly and to the tenth power. I didn't want anything less than my loss I told myself. But the years of shielding myself with that loss were getting long.

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