my mind playing tricks on me. And I want it to feel good, not sad.”
“I think that's what it really means when we say, ‘Love never dies.‘ The spirit never stops loving. So accept it freely.”
I let the tears fall. Each time I thought of Joel, it was followed not by fond remembrance, but by anger that he wasn't there physically or sadness that I could not reach out and touch his wavy brown hair.
Perhaps I was Catholic after all. I had the Catholic guilt part down to a T. I'd felt guilty for any happiness since Joel, as if I were betraying his memory. How could I lose the guilt to make room for healthier emotions?
“I'll work on that,” I promised. “And the praying part, too.” I thought back to the forty days after Joel's death, how Gabriella and her husband had gone to daily mass to pray for Joel for the repose of his soul. I had gone to church a month after the funeral, and in between I had only bitterly thought of my loss. I hadn't prayed for Joel at all. Had his soul suffered because of it? Did the fact that he'd died with mistrust between us impact his feelings for me now?
“Beyond praying for him, the greatest thing you can do is to honor his memory and live the best life you can. From the little bit you've told me about Joel, I can imagine how sad he might be that his traditions and spirit of your family died along with him. He was the joy conduit.”
“He was. I never realized until he died how much I depended on him for happiness. I've been trying for the boys' sake, but it's hard. And it takes four neighbors to put up the lights that Joel could do single-handedly. But I've been doing everything with a heavy heart.”
The deacon made a steeple with his fingers and pointed them at me. “So try doing them with a joyful heart.”
He made it sound so simple. First I'd have to cut the cables that kept my heart restrained, one by one. I slipped the pennies in thepocket of my jeans, saving them for when I really knew what I wanted. Five wishes almost seemed extravagant; I wouldn't spend them frivolously.
A half hour later, I sat in the car in front of the Socials building around back of the enormous Life Church campus. I'd promised myself I would give it one chance. One singles mixer and if I felt uncomfortable, I would be out of there faster than a rabbit spotting a wolf. I wore my new outfit, a layered ensemble with a black jacket, black tuxedo pants and a red V-neck cami. Red. I couldn't believe I was trying to pull it off before I was ready, but it was a touch, a root, a beginning.
Deacon Friar had lifted my spirits, convincing me it wasn't too late to feel connection with Joel, that I could spend an eternity with him, and this news calmed me. It gave me something to look forward to—not just when I died, but right this minute.
I gathered the courage, feeling the pennies in my pocket, and entered the building where more than a hundred people between the ages of 25 and 45 gathered. The group was attractive, wearing their finest look-at-me attire and chemical elixirs, the perfume and cologne mingling in an overwhelming potpourri scent.
“Welcome to singles,” a pretty twenty-something female said to me as she handed me a sign-in sheet and nametag. I surveyed the room, filled with sad people pretending not to be sad. In one way or another, we were all desperate, each wanting to find that something that would make our lives a little better. The never-been-marrieds were searching for fulfillment and family. The divorcées were looking for second chances, and the widowers were just searching, period. I imagined what we all had in common was the desire for connection, only for the living, but I wasn't sure anyone in the room could make me feel that.
I made my way through the crowd to the bar, where, to my chagrin, no alcohol was served. Life Church would not want to be responsible for hook-ups resulting from beer goggles, would they? Iaccepted an orange spritzer instead, which was just orange
“I think that's what it really means when we say, ‘Love never dies.‘ The spirit never stops loving. So accept it freely.”
I let the tears fall. Each time I thought of Joel, it was followed not by fond remembrance, but by anger that he wasn't there physically or sadness that I could not reach out and touch his wavy brown hair.
Perhaps I was Catholic after all. I had the Catholic guilt part down to a T. I'd felt guilty for any happiness since Joel, as if I were betraying his memory. How could I lose the guilt to make room for healthier emotions?
“I'll work on that,” I promised. “And the praying part, too.” I thought back to the forty days after Joel's death, how Gabriella and her husband had gone to daily mass to pray for Joel for the repose of his soul. I had gone to church a month after the funeral, and in between I had only bitterly thought of my loss. I hadn't prayed for Joel at all. Had his soul suffered because of it? Did the fact that he'd died with mistrust between us impact his feelings for me now?
“Beyond praying for him, the greatest thing you can do is to honor his memory and live the best life you can. From the little bit you've told me about Joel, I can imagine how sad he might be that his traditions and spirit of your family died along with him. He was the joy conduit.”
“He was. I never realized until he died how much I depended on him for happiness. I've been trying for the boys' sake, but it's hard. And it takes four neighbors to put up the lights that Joel could do single-handedly. But I've been doing everything with a heavy heart.”
The deacon made a steeple with his fingers and pointed them at me. “So try doing them with a joyful heart.”
He made it sound so simple. First I'd have to cut the cables that kept my heart restrained, one by one. I slipped the pennies in thepocket of my jeans, saving them for when I really knew what I wanted. Five wishes almost seemed extravagant; I wouldn't spend them frivolously.
A half hour later, I sat in the car in front of the Socials building around back of the enormous Life Church campus. I'd promised myself I would give it one chance. One singles mixer and if I felt uncomfortable, I would be out of there faster than a rabbit spotting a wolf. I wore my new outfit, a layered ensemble with a black jacket, black tuxedo pants and a red V-neck cami. Red. I couldn't believe I was trying to pull it off before I was ready, but it was a touch, a root, a beginning.
Deacon Friar had lifted my spirits, convincing me it wasn't too late to feel connection with Joel, that I could spend an eternity with him, and this news calmed me. It gave me something to look forward to—not just when I died, but right this minute.
I gathered the courage, feeling the pennies in my pocket, and entered the building where more than a hundred people between the ages of 25 and 45 gathered. The group was attractive, wearing their finest look-at-me attire and chemical elixirs, the perfume and cologne mingling in an overwhelming potpourri scent.
“Welcome to singles,” a pretty twenty-something female said to me as she handed me a sign-in sheet and nametag. I surveyed the room, filled with sad people pretending not to be sad. In one way or another, we were all desperate, each wanting to find that something that would make our lives a little better. The never-been-marrieds were searching for fulfillment and family. The divorcées were looking for second chances, and the widowers were just searching, period. I imagined what we all had in common was the desire for connection, only for the living, but I wasn't sure anyone in the room could make me feel that.
I made my way through the crowd to the bar, where, to my chagrin, no alcohol was served. Life Church would not want to be responsible for hook-ups resulting from beer goggles, would they? Iaccepted an orange spritzer instead, which was just orange
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