All is lost.

I have lost. I've lost her. I've lost many things. I don't know what else to say, but I'll probably say a bunch of stuff anyway. 

The thought came crashing in on me one night: "All is lost." That thought has remained with me. I know that truly not all is lost. Still, of all the feelings that have coursed through my veins in the last year-plus, this one is preeminent.

Here's the thing. I'm very practiced in letting go. My whole life I've had to let go of places, people, things, parts of myself, things precious, and things mundane. This world is ultimately temporary, and we with it. 

It should not have surprised me that I had to let her — the woman of my dreams — go. It should not have surprised me that I took it so hard, either. Precious things are hard to let go. The last time I saw her, she felt she had to give her marriage another shot. I sat and prayed with her, but she seemed so far away. She had already pulled away. Before we met that Saturday, she told me what was on her mind; I was not surprised. I begged her to not see me if she felt those things. She came anyway. She was sick with grief. It was painful to watch her struggle.

Before she drove away, she convulsed in my arms, crying. I was sure at that moment it was the last time I'd hold her. I don't know how she did it, but she smiled and waved as she drove away. As the thrill of seeing her wore off, I felt the crater grow in my chest. She was done. This thing that we had, it was over. I was the enemy, and she was cheating on her cheating husband when she came to see me, even though she was separated and so was I. She was betraying the one who betrayed her many times, and I was going to get both barrels. 

The next several months were a game of tug-of-war. I argued my case and tried to console her as I took steps back. She backtracked like I've never seen. At one moment, she would come crashing into me. The next, she would push me away. My confusion mounted. At one point I told her we were done. She was unbelievable hurt by those words. I thought I could shock her into seeing someone to help make sense of what she was going through. Really, though, I was sure we were though. I thought I was doing her a favor by saying it since she seemed unable to say those words. She had gone back to her husband and her family and had fortified herself to save her marriage. What else could I do but say goodbye?

By December of last year, I was positive we were through. I labored over that thought for days, weeks, months, and finally, I brought it all to God. His words were fast and penetrating, and I was wrong. He was doing something, and I could be a part of it. If I could be obedient. I thought to myself, "Only God can make something good come of this." All was lost. 

The feeling of loss remains. I don't know how I'll ever feel anything but loss when I think of her. Some people just make you feel the lack of them. There's no remedy for how I feel. I just have to feel it and hope it passes, like the wind passes through the trees. It's times like these that the stoicism I learned in my youth comes in handy. Being strong usually equates to feeling nothing. 

I remember looking at her Facebook page after we'd reconnected. I remember the family pictures, and then she shared more with me. I could almost step into her living room, her kitchen, her bedroom; it felt like I was always there. But I was never there. And then I looked at her "broken home," looked at my hands like they were stained with blood and hated myself. I walked right into her life and set off a bomb. I was the cause of their pain.

She was right to see me as an enemy, to talk to me that way, to push me out of her life. I fought her for a while but learned slowly there was no winning this war. Even if I won, I still lost. Indeed, all was lost. I agreed I was to blame for this situation we were all in. I shed so many tears in front of my God, determined to right this at any cost. I said I would do anything to make it right. I would disappear. I would sacrifice myself in any imaginable way. I would shed my skin if it was possible. I'd exchange my heart with her dear husband so he'd repent, take ownership, and find his way back home. If I was trying to compete for her love before, I wasn't anymore; I wanted him to go home. There was no way I could compete with him anyway. I had lost from the get-go. 

Everything lies where I left it. I couldn't do anything about it anyway. It's humbling to make such a mess and then leave it at God's feet. It's like watching my son tangle his shoelaces until he asks for help. He pushes me away until he realizes he's just made a mess, then asks me to fix it. And I do. Right now, it's hard to say how many messes I've made, but they're all in a pile waiting to be fixed. I'm done. All is lost. 

What I've learned from all of this is patience. It's a lesson I never thought I'd learn. I still yell at alarmingly slow drivers as I commute to and from work. But I'm really in no hurry. Everything I have is right where I am. I carry my world with me. 

I've written these words before. There is a finality this time. I don't want to write these things again. All of my words have been spilled out for all to see. My insides have churned, my brain has spun, my quest for answers has run out. I sit in silence and wonder how anything can be right again. Somehow, knowing I don't have the answers is heartening. Moreso, knowing I don't have to have the answers is heartening. Sometimes you have to leave messes alone. They aren't yours to fix anyway.