Here is the second installment of the Carole and Eric story. It’s long so I broke it into two parts. I’ll post Part 2 next Wednesday. My plan is to post weekly on Wednesday or Thursday. If you want to be notified by email when I post, you can subscribe below. Thank you so much for joining me on this journey!
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Carole lay face down on the massage table. “Is smooth jazz okay,” asked Katie as she cued up the music. The first few bars of Dream a Little Dream of Me began to play.
“Sounds perfect,” Carole replied softly.
Katie dimmed the lights and pulled the sheet down exposing Carole’s back. She drizzled massage oil in a circular motion around the exposed area. Carole tensed. “Sorry!” said Katie. “It’s a bit cold, but I’ll warm it up,” She brushed Carole’s silver hair aside and slid her hands onto Carole’s back, spreading the oil around. Her hands moved with the music—across the shoulder blades, down into the small of the back, then reversing direction, up to the shoulders again. As the oil warmed, its fragrance filled the room. Carole recognized it immediately—ylang ylang. Nice, she thought. Her breathing slowed. She began to drift.
“Eric,” she called in a dream. “Let it be you. Let it be your fingers that stroke me. Let it be your palms that push into the depth of me. Let it be your thumbs that work out the knots.” She felt his presence in the room. She sensed his thoughts—thoughts of his love for her.
Katie’s hands continued to move, her fingers working their way toward Carole’s bottom, stopping just shy of crossing invisible lines. “You wouldn’t have stopped,” Carole said to Eric, remembering the sweetness of the massages they used to share. “We should have done more of that.”
The thought thrust Carole out of her reverie into the ocean of regret where she had spent most of her time since Eric had died. Why hadn’t I made more time for those special moments? Why was I always so busy? Why didn’t I …Her tears began dripping through the face cradle onto the floor. She was grateful Katie couldn’t see her in the darkness. But her sinuses gave her away and the snot began to flow. She sniffled loudly. “Can I have a Kleenex?”
“Sure,” said Katie, handing the tissue to her. “Are you ok?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
Katie continued the massage, moving her hands to Carole’s legs and feet. Familiar to Me by Joe Zawinul began playing. Eric loved this song, thought Carole.
“So familiar.” said Eric. His voice coming through the veil.
“I’m so sorry, honey. So many things I could have done differently.”
“It’s okay. I am okay. We are okay. But there is something I want from you.”
What?
“Forgive yourself.” He let the words hang in the air and mingle with the ylang ylang and the velvety strains of Zawinul’s horns. Then he added, “For everything.”
Back in her car, Carole sat still for a moment to shake off the fog in her brain. She turned on her phone and saw a river of notifications scrolling by. TikTok. TikTok. TikTok. She opened the TikTok app to see what all the fuss was about. The eclipse video she posted earlier had generated hundreds of likes and comments. She clicked the Inbox to read what they had to say.
Jackee_M3 commented: Don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know.
Polepipe3 commented: You seem to focus on the things that you didn’t do perfectly. I feel for you.
Sweet&knot commented: You did your best. And you know Eric loved you.
User 367896… commented: Forgive yourself dear. It does no good to hold on to guilt.
“Damnit Eric!” Carole said aloud. “Did you put them up to this?”
On her drive home she thought about making another video to better explain herself. But what can I say? That I know I’m filled with guilt and shame? I’m sorry that makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry! I was born sorry!
There was some truth to that. It was a wound Carole had tried to heal over the years with therapists, doctors, hypnotists, psychics, and shamans. She told the story so many times she had it down to an elevator speech. “I was born in the 50s when modern medicine wasn’t that modern. They gave Mom a spinal block for the pain. The procedure was botched and destroyed Mom’s disc L3-L4. She was in pain for the rest of her life. I didn’t mean to do it, but I hurt my mom simply by being born.” Carole was sick of the story and sick of the crazy-making impact it had on her life. Forgiving herself did not seem like a possibility for her—at least not in this lifetime.
When she got home, she headed straight to her bookshelf and scanned the book titles. Here it is! She grabbed On Grief and Grieving by Elizabeth Kubler Ross and frantically scanned through the pages. She stopped when she saw the pink highlight along and three big black exclamation marks in the margin. She read it aloud.
Death has a cruel way of giving regrets more attention than they deserve.
“See!” she said to the big orange tabby asleep on the couch. “It’s normal! It’s the grief! Margo didn’t move; didn’t bother to flick an ear. “You’re no help!” She sat down next to the cat and picked up her phone. “You wanna watch this with me?” “I need to remind myself of exactly what I said.” She clicked the arrow and watched herself recount the story that began in August six years before.
…to be continued next week.
One Response
I appreciate Carol’s vulnerability and giving room for the voices that intrude…The Tao of Voices. Some voices are not nice, yet they are there, today, maybe always. “Today they are here…” damnit — and, yet, if they are fought with, they are given more power. Carol is wonderful to give grace to others…Eric reminds her to bless herself — even when she is unable to do so. “Trust and Flow” the Tao says…