Dedicated

But first – a preface feels necessary.

Some force seems to be prodding me to put fingers to keys if you will, and the result is taking the form of scenes and moments and memories from the past. With small changes here in the last few weeks, and changes still to come, I feel slightly closer to the ‘looking ahead’ part of my life. I don’t know how long these posts will last. A figurative radio silence may come at any moment if words disappear once more, or thoughts become too maudlin, or the bits of cheer that accompany small decisions suddenly wear down to complacency again. 

So, onward we go –

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Have you ever had something dedicated to you?

Perhaps a former lover, late one night, called a radio station and made a dedication of a song that held special meaning. Maybe you know a published author who felt compelled to name you as somehow inspirational to their writing. Perhaps a friend or someone else in your life dedicated a contribution in your name for some philanthropic cause.

The words that are to follow were, I believe, a true dedication meant to honor me. They were chosen as a means to convey affection at the time. No, it was more than affection. It was love. They were presented to a large group of people on an early evening in April many years ago. They were the words to a song that I had heard often prior to that night, but on that evening they held such promise, and I felt truly honored to listen to them once again and be the recipient of the love that was intended by them.

At times I just don’t know
How you could be anything but beautiful
I think that I was made for you
And you were made for me

And I know that I won’t ever change
We’ve been friends through rain or shine
For such a long, long time

Laughing eyes and smiling face
It seems so lucky just to have the right
Of telling you with all my might
You’re beautiful tonight

And I know that you won’t ever stray
‘Cause you’ve been that way from day to day
For such a long, long time

And when you hold me tight
How could life be anything but beautiful
I think that I was made for you
And you were made for me

And I know that I won’t ever change
We’ve been friends through rain or shine
For such a long, long time

Well, I must say it means so much to me
To be the one who’s telling you
I’m telling you, that you’re beautiful

Those words are the lyrics to the song “Beautiful” by Gordon Lightfoot, the song my then fiance requested we play at our wedding. It is a lovely song. If you would like to hear it just follow the link.

For consistent readers I doubt that I need to tell you that the intent of these words, and even the love behind these words, has diminished since that night in 1983. Let’s be honest. The intent they were meant to convey and the love that made those words swell and sink deeply into my heart, is gone.

It was made very clear to me not so long ago that different words are favored to describe me now. I can’t/won’t share them here. It is enough to know that they originate on the opposite end of the spectrum from the words that filled the church that night. That those words should be voiced at all, in light of the fact that speaking of any emotion or feeling is typically unheard of, surprised me much more than the words themselves. They were not presented to me, however.  I had to learn of them from someone who was made to witness behavior more like a child’s tantrum than an adult with self-control.

The words, while hurtful, did little to alter my own emotions. I have reached a point of resignation. I have reached a point that, even if I was offered an opportunity to go back, to catch this disaster before it became our end, I have no desire to do so.

So now, even if I find myself lingering too long listening to those words, I cannot go back. I can still see the room as clearly as if I were present there now. I can remember the face of the man standing in front of me at the alter, holding my hands and making silly faces to keep me from crying. His efforts helped some, but not entirely. I can remember feeling as if we were the only two people in that huge church as the first chords of the guitar came through the speakers.

I can remember, and linger, but I cannot go back.

I can only go forward.