Give up the ghost

He walked in and the aroma of coffee hugged his scent. The bustle of the busy coffee shop almost bothered him. But he hadn't slept all night and needed a dose of caffeine to help him stay awake. It was a long weekend after all.

And that’s when he noticed her, off the corner of his eye. She was perusing the pastry counter in deep thought unsure of what she wanted. She turned slightly realizing she was holding the line and offered the next customer her place in line.

“You go first” She said.

She hadn't noticed him. She hadn't even looked at his face. Just the figure of the man standing next to her. Until he said his drink order. And then her body perked up, she knew that voice. Every inch of her body recognized his being. She wouldn't even have to look twice to know it was him.

It was the first time that they saw each other in person. 1 year and 6 month since the last time he kissed her. And too many sleepless nights, tears, and heartache since the last time she’d broken his heart.

Between his drink order and hers they mumbled hellos and an awkward handshake. He wanted to say something, but in front of all these people it was impossible. So he said it was good seeing her and to take care as he walked out of the coffee shop.

But as the door closed behind him his heart sank, as her eyes welled up with tears she would not let herself shed.  She thought he’d gone and she said to herself that was that. She waited for her order and walked out to her car. She looked up and he was leaning against it.

“Coffee?” She said lingering on the last letter, startled, not knowing what else to say.

“Coffee.”

“But you don’t drink coffee”. She smirked. And that bothered him that she assumed that she still knew him at all.

“Some things change. Some things have changed. Look at your hair! It’s… its blonde!” He reached his hand and grabbed a lock of her hair and she flinched.

“Um. Yea, needed a new look”.

“Does He like blondes?” He said sarcastically.

And though outdoors, in a wide open space, the air filled tumultuously with discomfort. She eyed the door but he didn't budge.

“As long as I like it, that’s all that matters.”

“Guess not much has changed; you still do whatever you please, in disregard to anyone.”

She bit her lip and sighed aloud. She knew where this conversation was headed. 

“Let’s not do this, please. Please, let’s not do this, you’ll say something, then I’ll say something. And you’ll find another reason to be angry”.

He angered with just those words. “You always have a way out, don’t you? It’s so easy for you to brush people off when they speak truths you don’t want to hear. Well I've spent too much time thinking about what I was going to say to you the first time I saw you, and you’re going to hear it!”

She was taken aback, stunned. But she knew he needed this, that it was part of his closure, so she let him continue without interruption. So there, on a clear August day, she let him one last time plow right through her.

There was so much venom in his words, so much anger in his delivery. And all she could think about was how much she had hurt him by walking away the way she did. ‘There should be stars for great wars’ like theirs.

Some breakups occur out of thin air, others are messy, and terribly painful, like pulling teeth. And everyone deals with it differently. Closure as well comes in different forms. Some people do okay with a long cry and a tub of Haagen-dazs. Other’s need a screaming match and a burning of something or other. A type of sacrificial remembrance where they hope to do away with physical memories hoping to cast the internal ones as well.

I don’t know what the correct way of dealing with a break up is. And you’d think I’d be an expert. But I know that whichever way you do, you have to be able to walk away with your heart in your hand. Take control of what you lost; don’t give your power to someone else by holding on to resentment and pettiness. Forgive and forget, not for them, but for yourself, because no one can walk through life with a load of baggage successfully. When you tangle yourself so deeply into past misfortunes, when the anger consumes you it warps your perspective of the future. It haunts you.

Give up the ghost. Let it go. Not because that person deserves it, but because you do. Making a mountain out of minuscule things and carrying hatred in your heart doesn't decay the other person, it burns holes in your own heart.

Let the echo’s of the past be the past. Leave behind the daunting memories that shadow you. Break free from the chains that anchor you. Unbury your soul, shake of the dust. Look ahead darling, I promise it will be all right. 

The dead of winter, the light in spring

I drove home in a gray afternoon. It’d been a long day at work, the kind that keeps you so busy that you haven’t a minute to think about a single thing. Frantic, with deadlines, and people pulling you a million directions. Needless to say I was drained, and utterly exhausted.

I pulled up to the driveway, and shut the car off. As much as I wanted warmth, I didn’t hurriedly dash for the front door. Instead, I looked out of my passenger window and saw my dad gardening in the front yard. It was his favorite thing to do. And he was so good at it. His green thumb made everything flourish in effortless beauty. I loved that about him.

I hadn’t noticed how depressing our yard looked. This winter had been so bitterly cold it had taken hostage most of the plants. But brown and wilting as they were, my dad kneeled beside them adding fertilizer and water. He was also attaching pieces of tarp to his beloved rose bushes, shielding them from the winter frost. I thought it was monotonous, but he kept on, paying no mind to the bone-chilling wind and the 32 degree weather that afternoon. After all it was his garden, and if he didn’t do it no one else would.

I went inside swiftly only yelling out a “hi dad” before shutting the front door close. I went directly to my room, threw my things on a chair, sat on the corner of my bed, and laid back head first. I closed my eyes. Thoughts were swirling in my head. But all I could keep thinking about was how reminiscent of those rose bushes I felt. Long gone the green of the stem and the blooming buds. Instead, they lied crippled, brown, and wilted.

A break up and the end of an era had casted a winter filled with shadows and uncertainty. I couldn’t stop the process much less a rose could stop winter from rolling through. But though accepted and having had closure, my inner self couldn’t but help remain lifeless and wilted. I’d lost my bloom, and at that moment hadn’t the slightest idea of how to recover.

Some things seem menial, as if the task surpasses the ending result in strength and time, and therefore seems wasteful. But they are nonetheless necessary. Some things seem so uncertain, that all hope attached to it seems foolish and imprudent. For the person outside looking in, a brown, wilted rose bush is just that. Wilted. They’d never experienced its spring… when the bloom of the flower made a garden luscious, beaming and radiant.

And yet when March crept up from behind the long buried shadows, and the garden stretched out its arms after its deep slumber, the onlooker would welcome it with joy. Forgotten was the arduous task of keeping alive its roots so that it would bloom again in spring. To the gardener the end result of a tedious winter was worth it. Where someone saw a dead garden, he saw soil, and seed, and life.

I think we too often forget that. In the, at times, excruciating task of mending our hearts we burry our heads so deep into our despair and sorrow that we forget that. Our hearts and our strength seem so shattered they haze our view. And everything seems yellowing, browning, withered.  But in truth, with a little work, and a lot of hope, even the bleakest garden can bloom again. After all isn’t the definition of faith “the evident demonstration of realities that are not seen”?

I lied in bed looking up at my ceiling, 30 minutes had gone by. I stood up and went to my window, and there was my dad still working in the garden. I went into the kitchen and poured him a hot cup of coffee and myself a hot tea. I put on my coat and walked outside to give it to him. I asked him what he was doing, he looked up at me and smiled and he began explaining to me the technicalities. And even though I couldn’t begin to grasp the concept, I nodded.  

Because truth is… in the dead of winter we all need a little nurturing, a little warmth, or even just a hot cup of coffee to keep us going.