LesbosOnTheCouch
by Beth C, one of the Lesbos
I climb the
stairs and in finally reach the elevator. She is always waiting for me when the
elevator doors open. She promised me a life time ago – without actually saying
the words – It was a promise that was made with loving hugs, laughter and
squeezes. She would always be there to watch over me.
Admittedly,
I didn't always know that. Actually, I just discovered her actual presence a
couple of years ago. It was my grandfather, Papa, who actually told me on his
deathbed, while everyone around him denied that he knew he was dying, that he
would actually always be with me watching over me. It was his promise that
opened the door for me to see my Gram standing there waiting for me when the
elevator doors opened.
As usual,
I've gone off track…
I reach the
elevator and hit the button. It's the third floor. That's the floor she
chooses. That is our floor, not to high but not too low. As the elevator
ascends, I have a calm, absolute certainty that she will be there. And she is.
Together we
walk to the balcony which is actually a doorless extension of this side of the
third floor. She meets me with a smile. No matter what I've done, or what I
think I've done that will upset her, she always greets me with a smile…Then she
puts her arms around me, or at least I think she does, and we walk together to
look out over the side of the balcony.
The truth
is…I think she does all of these things. I feel her touch, I see her face, I
hear her words…but I am not actually sure that this is what she is doing or if
she is simply a presence – a real and true presence, allowing me to have her
with me as I need her…as I always have.
As we look
over the side, she hears my thoughts. I am thinking of all the mistakes I have
made, of all the pain that I have inflicted on others. ..on one, two or three
others…those I've most loved…including her, my Gram. I am going over in my
head, out loud to her, and each word that I utter, each memory of the deed,
stabs me like a knife and ice pick all at once. Some of these deeds have caused
irreparable damage, I tell her. Some will leave a scar that will never heal…I
feel the sorrow of regret building up inside me.
My Gram's
arm is now around me…she comments on the beautiful view…the clouds so light and
filled with a soft safe place to catch all that may or may not happen…You
did the best you could at the time, is what I hope I am hearing her say…but
my voice is continuing its litany of wrongs I have committed.
You did the
best you could at the time…we are, none of us perfect. Look at me. I loved
them, and yet we hurt them as well….who knows, maybe that hurt that deed that I
did brought about the deeds that were done….and caused your pain…I did the best
that I could at the time. I did what I thought was right.
You did the
best that you could at the time. Looking back…it would have been better if you
had done differently, but we don't have that option – the luxury of going back
and doing it again…we cannot always right the wrongs of the past…We have only
now. Now, I ask you, my smart girl (that is what she always called me, her
'smart girl') – please, for PEACE's sake…all of us have made mistakes…This is
called living and life…please, forgive yourself and LIVE now…move on…
The clouds
have turned from white to stormy grey. The wind is blowing and the rain begins
to fall, above the clouds, onto the clouds. My Gram is crying. She doesn't cry.
I never cry either. She is crying now.
She walks
me back to the elevator and kisses me on my cheek and head and holds me tightly
until the elevator comes. I never asked you -not you -not to go…she says
to me as she pushes me gently onto the elevator. We all have the path we must
follow. We all make mistakes.
I ride the
elevator down to the ground floor. I go out of the elevator and into the
garden, the city, my life. The sun is shining and the clouds are few and far
between.
