This is last part of the “Death Without Dying” series.

Again, these are the powerful words of my friend who coming home from a business trip was greeted at the door by his wife who said, “I’ve met someboy. I’m leaving you.”

Absorb his journey…

“I’ve met somebody. I’m leaving you.” I don’t want to be the victim. And those around me will want to give me that position, like I’ve earned it or deserve it. It is a special place and sure as hell beats being the villain. But in my quest to control, to heal, to observe and create positive outcomes from this devastation, will I find my own guilt? Where have I acted without integrity or inconsistently with my values? What was my role in driving her not only into the arms, but the house of another man? Can I apologize with integrity to start a process of reparation? If I find my guilt, or if it finds me, can I forgive myself?

Can the torrent of pain be controlled with building dams and levees? Without the levee breaks causing floods of resentment, depression or resignation? Let me grieve my sorrow out and avoid the high emotional debt and interest penalty of the fog of depression that settles in just off shore. Can I focus on being effective and not worry about saving face?

Betrayal. Because I’m confused, I find it easy to interpret rather than identify and validate my hot and perpetual emotions. And this keeps the brain chewing this bone non-stop, trying to rationalize, trying to understand the irrational and inexplicable.

Can the world of possibilities be reopened? Can the possible replace the obligations, implied and inherited and a legacy. When anger pulls into the station will it pull resentment as its caboose? When it does, can forgiveness rush out to meet it? Can we be clear that forgiveness is not absolution of bad choices, bad decisions, wrong turns? Can it be a gentleman of integrity and truth and not a pretender? Am I strong enough to commit to living in this present moment?

“I’ve met somebody. I’m leaving you.” When I let go of it, will it let go of me? Will I ever find the freedom to respond openheartedly to any loss, to any love, to any dream? Will it mean denial of the grief or the pain? When who I am is who I was, where does this leave the who I’m going to be?

Cold. Dark. A heaviness on an empty chest. Buried in grief. Waiting through the mourning for morning.