Of course the week before Halloween today's theme is, you guessed it, Halloween. For more Theme Thursday participants be sure to go here.
Although this isn't particularly about Halloween, it is a little creepy, so I thought I'd share it with you tonight. As I'm sure I mentioned at one time or another, I had a boyfriend that I totally loved. Seriously, I thought we were going to get married. We didn't. But that's another story. My point is that I loved his family. I considered his parents as my own. Not that my parents weren't enough, they definitely were, but I loved his parents as well.
This boy (because surely that's what he was at the time) and I broke up... or rather he dumped me, but I'm sure I was a major part of the problem ( I had issues). But I never stopped loving his parents. A few years went by, I had moved to Reno and had just given birth to my second child. I called this boy (who was by this time a man), because we still talked occasionally. He told me his father just died. In fact I had called on the day of the funeral. I was shocked. I was heart broken. I was 1500 miles away with a new baby, a two year old, a good-for-nothing husband, and I couldn't make it to the funeral. Honestly I was devastated. I always wondered if I had made it to that funeral would things have turned out differently with us. Probably not, but that's where my mind was.
Anyway, over the next few days I was just crushed at not being able to be with this boy, or his mother, in their time of need. My then-husband and I were fighting (as usual) one night, I don't even remember what it was about. I got out of bed and went into my daughters bed to sleep with her. I was curled up on my right side facing the wall, with my back to the bedroom door.
A few minutes later I heard my husband come in the room. He stood over me for a minute or so, then put his hand on my left shoulder and squeezed it lovingly. I figured he was trying to make up since he was such an ass. I took my right hand and placed it on top of his (which was still on my shoulder). I felt the wiry little hairs beneath my palm. I felt the cold hard metal of his ring. I squeezed back in acknowledgment. Only then did I turn to look at the hand I was holding.
It was not my husbands hand.
I could see the Ole Miss class ring clearly, the ruby red gem in the center glinting from the light in the hall. I was holding the hand of my ex-boyfriends dead father.
I sat up with disbelief, but he was gone. He had always said he hoped we would stay together, and I think he knew how desperately I wished I could tell him a proper goodbye. I never saw Mr Jim again after that night, but sometimes I still think about him. I'd want him to know that even tho things didn't turn out as I planned, they turned out the way they were supposed to, and that is always okay.