I Will Love Again.

It was Valentines Day, not that it meant anything to me. It's been three years since I've had a Valentine or a date. I've had opportunities but after the relationship with Mike, I haven't been ready to go through that pain again. Not ever. I could never trust again.

Mike was perfect. I thought he was perfect for me. He wasn't the best-looking guy in town, and not the most successful, but he was attractive, thoughtful, and treated me tenderly. That's what I needed more than anything, to be treated with love and kindness. My ego and my heart had long been suffering until Mike came into my life and made everything wonderful.

We weren't kids. We were in our thirties, never married, and we each went through serious live-in relationships that didn't quite make it. We knew how tenuous love and relationships could be, and we wanted to make this one work.  

Mike was a high school math teacher. He coached Little League baseball, loved kids, and dreamed of one day being Principal of the private elementary school he had attended. Actually, he wanted to start his own private school but circumstances kept him from acquiring the financing for that.

I was a field representative for our local newspaper. If a story broke on my side of town, I covered it. That wasn't my main income. I had invested a small inheritance wisely and was able to live comfortably while struggling to become a good artist. In my heart, I knew I would never be good but, I loved the act of painting. I could absorb myself in the action. Determining the design, blending the colors, then dipping the brush onto the palette was like soothing music to my soul. Each stroke was a loving chord from my creative spirit. 

When Mike died that music died. I couldn't paint anymore. I didn't want to paint anymore. Something inside me shut down closing off all creativity. I became a shadow of who I had been physically and mentally. You see Mike didn't just die; he died in the arms of another woman. Her husband is serving a life sentence for their murders. I have been serving a life sentence of grief, feeling the loss, betrayal, and deep sorrow until last Saturday, three years after Mike's murder.

As I said, it was Valentines Day. The editor of the paper called me to cover an incident on my side of town involving a hostage situation at a small bank. When I got to the scene, the street was blocked by police cars.  The SWAT team arrived and according to Daniel Madison, one of my police buddies, a shoot-out was almost inevitable.

He was right. The two men inside began shooting. The bullets from their guns slamming into cars and trees lining the streets and me. I hadn't yet ducked behind anything when shots came wildly spewing through the windows. I was down and out before I knew anything had hit me.

I understand it was touch and go for my recovery. For a few hours, they didn't think I was going to make it, but I did. My only memory of that time I was unconscious was having one of those near-death experiences. You know, where you float above your body, go through a tunnel, see a white light and emerge in this paradise atmosphere. 

That all happened to me. I went to the other side where I was in a museum with exquisite paintings along the walls. Every framed piece of art contained musical notes and hearts of all sizes. When I analyzed it later while recovering, I thought perhaps Valentines Day was why hearts were in all the pictures, but I couldn't understand the musical notes.

Now, a week later, I see the whole picture. When I allowed my personal grief to take over my life, I cut off the music of my soul. When I go home today, I promise to begin again. Coming close to death made me realize that I have to open all the doors I had shut on feelings and live again. I promise myself I will not only paint again, but I will love again. 

The End 

©2014 M. Bradley McCauley

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