Healing old hurts

I had what I believed was the love of my life in what seemed like another lifetime. I was 16, and he was considerably older, but we were happy. We had our ups and downs, breakups and makeups, and a lot of fun and laughter. I tried new things and went to new places—I had adventures! We were desperately in love until we weren't, and I was simply desperate for his love and attention.

In the almost seven years that we were in and out of a relationship, a lot occurred. Much of it influenced me more than I realized. During that period, I faced my worst moments and most profound grief, and for many decades I blamed him exclusively. He bore some of the culpability; he lied to me about our relationship and his life outside of it for years. I was young and innocent, or appeared to be, and lacked the self-confidence and self-worth to walk away.

Much later in life, so much later that it seems like another lifetime, I recognized that much of what happened between us was at least partially my responsibility. That epiphany? It didn't sit right with me, but I wasn't sure how to handle it. See, if I had walked away sooner, much of the pain would have been avoided.

I've frequently wondered where he was and whether he was happy in the years since we last talked. And, yeah, I did wonder whether he was thinking about me. I'd lost track of him, and even my best alphabet soup talents couldn't help me locate him. Until I did one day.

I explored a bit further and discovered some new information. He changed his name, had two grown children, lost a wife, and remarried happily. He continued to fly and eventually bought his own aircraft. He seemed to be content. I had no wish to cause drama, but I felt compelled to apologize. I simply didn't know how to do so.

In February of this year, after months of sporadic stalking, I sent a message. I honestly anticipated no answer and felt a weight lift off my shoulders when I eventually pressed the send button. There was no sign that he had seen or read the note for weeks. That was OK with me. Then, one day...

He responded. He was gracious in his note and acknowledged how his actions and behaviors were hurtful. And he apologized, accepting full responsibility for his actions. His remark lifted a bit more weight off my shoulders, and I felt relieved that all of the pain had been put to rest. And yet a tiny part of me wondered if I had mattered. Had he thought about me, remembered "us?" I set it aside and didn't think about it again until this morning.

When I logged on, his message was highlighted on my laptop. For the first time, I took notice of the date of his message. He sent it on my birthday. My heart smiled, and all my questions and wondering have finally been laid to rest. Why? Because I don't believe in coincidence, and neither did he. I believe...no, I know the date was chosen on purpose. It was a gift I needed to heal the girl within me who had been taught she didn't deserve to be loved. And it was given to me by the person who, maybe unintentionally, had been my most significant teacher of that lesson.

How and when healing happens is a funny thing.