My Uncle's Shoes

I Am Not Alone

Tom Froehlich

It’s a clear, sunny, beautiful southern California day.  It had rained the day before, wiping everything clean. I can smell the cool, salty breeze as I bike along the ocean. I know I should enjoy this. It is something I once longed for when living out the long Wisconsin winters until I moved to Venice seven years ago. But somehow it is not enough.  In it fact almost angers me that I am expected to be fulfilled by this. To not allow myself expectations and a longing of something greater. I am expected to live in the moment rather than that of wanting. Yearning for a great job, financial stability, a life partner, tired of walking life’s path on my own, tugging at my joi de vive’ and pulling me down.  Making this moment less than. Not enough. I know that I know better and this knowledge only succeeds in frustrating me further.  I believe in a higher power and am aware I should be grateful yet ashamedly I am not. 

I do my best to push all thoughts out of my mind.  Biking can be a meditative experience for me if I allow it.  I down shift and push harder praying for something to help me find a shift in my perspective for the day about to unfold as I don’t want to spend it in a state of wanting.  As I negotiate a turn on the path that snakes along Venice beach I see a couple walking.  They are older. Perhaps in their early eighties. He wears a light blue baseball cap, which makes me smile as it reminds me of my father who passed away soon after I moved to California. She wears a straw hat, its visor shielding her eyes from the sun.  She cradles his left arm in her right, covering them both lovingly and protectively with her other hand.  She is obviously the more ambulatory of the two and gently leads her partner forward, supporting him, making his steps more confident.  As I bike passed them I overhear them talking about how beautiful the day is after the previous days rain.  I hear them laugh and I smile. I can feel my body chemistry change. Feel my energy shift.

I imagine the years the couple has spent together. Years necessary to earn that kind of comfort and familiarity. Comfort that allows you to set aside your pride and be cared for. The mutual understanding that many years ago you left behind the me and you of things to become us.  I think of them, hoping one day I will have enough years with someone, to have logged enough time, to rest in that cradle of comfort and familiarity. Alternating back and forth from leading to being led.  But I refuse to allow my thoughts to fall into the forlorn.  I am blessed that too much forlorn bores me and it is one of the tools I have to work my way out of it. 

Instead I choose to think of those people I love or have loved and how they have loved me in return. I think of my best friend who now lives in Arkansas who somehow finds me flawless and is always ready with what she finds an obnoxious laugh, yet brings me nothing but pure and utter joy.  We find one another perfect in spite of our flaws. A mystery, eternally unsolved that adds to our mirth. 

I think of my cousin Lizzie who asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding telling me that she and her fiancé had fought over whose attendant I would be and she won because she was blood. We laughed about how my mom would be afraid I would be wearing a dress and then laughed even harder when my mom later asked Lizzie that very question.  I remember a few years before that when her brother Joey asked me to be in his wedding as well. Being in my late forties and my cousin fifteen years my junior, I felt being a member of a wedding party a bit ridiculous and told him so. He said, “I sure as hell hope you’re not trying to wrangle your way out of this. You are not just my cousin, you are one of my best friends.”  Not just loved, but sought after. What was I to do? I said, “Yes.” 

I think of my older brother hugging me for the first time when our dad died saying, “I am so glad you’re here.”  I remember holding the hug and sharing our pain.  I remember my mom slipping her hand into mine as we walked down the aisle of the church after the memorial service and telling her I would stay as long as she needed me. I remember her telling me she would have to have me teach her how to be single again because she hadn’t done it for over fifty years and I seemed to do it pretty well. And I knew she meant it and knew I would be there for her. 

I remember over twenty years ago on Valentine’s Day telling my parents I had lost my job and was getting a divorce.  They told me to come home so they could take care of me.  Three years later I told them I was gay and they told me I was their son and they would love me no matter what and we would figure things out together.  

I remember ending a relationship with a man I loved more than I thought I could ever love anyone and my dad calling to tell me they may not yet understand what I was going through, but wanted me to know they were there if I needed anything.  I remember breaking down and crying into the phone and sharing my pain.  They listened quietly and began to understand it was the loss of love just like anyone else.  I remember when I first met him and how my stomach would flip when his long blonde lashes flashed across his blue eyes. Those same eyes glistened with tears, his heart racing, the first time he told me how much he loved me.  To this day my breath still catches in my chest at the memory. 

I think of my niece and nephews and how they nicknamed me Uncle T., because I just didn’t seem grown up enough to be Uncle Tom.  I think of when they entered college and how it became just “T.” and they explained to me how I was more like their friend than their uncle and hoped I felt the same way.  I think of my nephew calling me when he broke up with his girl friend looking for advice and comfort.  He asked me if I had ever been in love and I told him about the guy and how amazing it had been while it lasted. He merely responded, “Wow T. that’s awesome you got to feel that way. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” 

I think of a friend leaving a bouquet of flowers at my door when I was going through a particularly difficult time with a note telling me what a wonderful person I am.  Not only did I believe her, but saw what a wonderful person she is as well.

I realized that the time I had spent single was not spent lamenting the aloneness, but rather gathering a wealth of relationships and nurturing those relationships when I otherwise may have been busy with a significant other.  I realized it was not at all as if I was lacking in love, the love was merely different, but of just as great of value and offering as much comfort and joy. With these people I will share my life always and me theirs to the end of our days.  Should I need someone to cradle my arm in the crook of their own while we walk in the sunshine I have many from which to choose.  I realize that I am not alone. I am far from it.