Kiss count for the top of Bridget's head now: 247.

 I was staring at the sunset and it got too bright and I started seeing black spots so Jacob passed me his giant seventies sunglasses to put on while he was taking pictures.

Monday morning he asked if there was a specific reason I wasn't wearing my hearing aids on our drive the night before. I said I had worn them, what was he talking about?

He showed me a picture, taken surreptitiously as I watched the clouds roll out and I was busted.

I took them out because it made it easier to ignore the hurt in his voice as we talked. It made it easier not to listen. Sometimes it just makes it easier to hide. He understood, thankfully.

The good news is the top of my head is still his favorite body part of mine.

You were going to say something else, weren't you?

Snort.

Loch and load poems.

Sometimes even Loch doesn't know quite when to give up. I never cast him aside, I should never have been with him. We don't get along well enough to be more than friends. We never did, we never will. I used him and he used me. He practically raised me and then some things happened and he bequeathed me to Cole and-

Justify, justify, Bridge. Knock it off.

Here, I'll give you his latest. Previous poems are here if you can find them. Enjoy it or say What in the fuck? like Jake did.

One night the mermaid came to me
with tears upon her face
looking for a safe and sound
and warm and happy place

Her angel had rejected her
a temporary feat
her eyes were sad her limbs were weak
her heart had ceased to beat

The mermaid found her former flame
a love burned strong and true
he opened up his arms so wide
she knew what she must do

She went to into his circle thus
and kissed him sweetly so
she knew that she would hurt the angel
but upward she must go

For even angels make mistakes
as most of us will say
and sometimes feelings you hope might die
never go away

For the flame still loved his mermaid
as he held her in his arms
He swore that he would keep her safe
and never do her harm

But she swam away so quick and light
back toward her love
her wayward angel, so cavalier
waiting up above

He gets it all, the mermaid's love
the spoils, that coveted prize
the looks of adoration and reverence
pouring from her eyes

the former flame gets nothing
just her rare and precious skin
but nothing of that adoration
from the mermaid's heart within

The flame is but a burning light
a spark or just an ember
burning for the mermaid's love
from new years to december

He wishes he could cast the angel
back to heaven for good
and be with his beautiful mermaid girl
the way he always should

If she would just give him a chance
then surely she would see
that sometimes loves from days gone by
are the ones that are meant to be

Disarming.

    She's the world at my feet
    The sun that gives heat
    Take a rest and hold her near
    Or she'll float away from here
Friday afternoon I relinquished the kids to Cole's parents for their annual summer vacation. For the past three summers Ruth and Henry have spent two weeks on the farm in Nova Scotia, being hooligans, swimming, shellseeking, turning golden pink and being adored. Cole's parents are heartbroken, just heartbroken over life and how it happens and they now pour the hopes they had for their sons into my children.

And the kids love the hayrides and the orchard-tree climbing and the beekeeping and the ocean being right there. It's a heavenly spot. They will return right after our first wedding anniversary, reluctantly. It's a hard place to leave.

I won't talk about how I feel about them being gone for so long, it's difficult and I've said it before about how it feels as if my arms are missing or torn off. My kids are my life. I just don't write about them.

While they're gone Jacob and I appear to have some time that is filled with....no obligations. He doesn't start his new job for three more weeks, our friends have scattered to all corners for their own vacations and reunions and getaways.

According to the list we made of what we want to do it's going to be a vacation at home consisting of large helpings of Thai take-out, bad horror movies and sex, with a little sleeping in and a lot of running. And talking. Which is perfect, really.

That's not to say we're not still struggling with the betrayals we've leveled against each other like the barrels of a gun. If you thought we had escaped unscathed, you'd be wrong. But we'll get through it. We've resolved not to allow baggage to weigh us down and a simpler existence of respect and love and appreciation means we function as two halves of a whole, burdened by little save for the sheer magnitude of our need for one another.

We'll be fine.

Meltdown

My posting may be sporadic for a few days. We're having a heatwave and my poor little brain is just fried. Add in my laptop crashing continuously, the poor ancient thing, and you have a recipe for...well....absence.

Oh and my tech support guy? I don't really want to call him and ask for favors right now. Since I kind of slept with him a week ago and all that. No, calling him would be bad.

Or I could go all arty on you..

This morning I could savor my coffee while I write a litany of how many times I have broken down or fallen apart in the past two days and how many times I have been put back together. I could tell you how hard the past week has been or how we did indeed manage to mostly get through the shock of casting each other aside for momentary comforts. I could tell you how easy simple can be. I could tell you it's going to be a close and quiet weekend. I might write of how I feel the low biting at my toes as I stand on the edge of my entire existence and I don't even hear the wind rustling in the trees or howling across the landscape threatening to topple me from my perch and I could remind you to drink your water and stay cool because it's going to be a very warm day.

But I won't, because you know all this.

Kiss count for the top of Bridget's head: 73.

Making things simple.

I prayed so hard God finally answered me. Maybe just to shut me the hell up. I whispered Jacob's comfort prayer that he taught me a long time ago over and over inside my head so that it would be shared by two. Somewhere I hoped he was doing the same.

Thursday morning at 3 am I was lying in our bed wide awake. I heard the wind chimes. Usually when I hear them it means it's windy and about to rain and I'll always get up and watch them circle lazily on their chains. I heard them again, softly. Someone was deliberately making them sing and my heart stopped beating. I didn't go and look out the window, instead I pulled on one of Jacob's huge sweaters and ran downstairs and straight out the back door. And stopped.

If you've ever seen the person you love most in the world standing in front of you in stark moonlight with tears rolling down his face you'll understand it has to be the most beautiful and worst sight in the world. I froze. I think I was afraid if I moved or startled him he might bolt, like a wounded animal. I stood there and the tears started too. He walked to the bottom of the steps slowly and stopped. He had been watching me, close by but far enough away so that he could have whatever he needed-space, time, solitude, to figure out if he wanted to go forward or peel off to the left and disappear forever.

He held his arms wide and I went into them, hysterical. He held me tightly until I could breathe again. He finally pulled away and wiped both our faces with his shirttail.

He said if I would take him back, that he'd like to stay, that he loves me and he was sorry. He collapsed onto the steps with me in his arms, both of us sobbing. He rocked me, he stroked my hair, he knew. He knew I wanted him there and nowhere else. He knew how I felt but I tried to blurt it out and repeat it over and over anyway, trying to make him understand exactly how much I love him.

Why are you punishing me? We both screwed up.

Is that what you think? That I left to punish you?

What else could it be?

Bridget, I left to punish myself. Not being around you is hell on earth now. I had to pay for what I did. And keeping myself from you was my punishment. I drove you to act out and put yourself in a dangerous position with my stupidity and I hate myself for that.

So we can hate each other and be together at the same time.

I could never hate you. I hate what happened. I hate the thought of him touching you.

He asked me if we should take it back and I said yes. Two wrongs cancel each other out and Bridget and Jacob start over, granted, from scratch. If something is a dealbreaker then it's a don- deal, but if it isn't going to be then we need to not use it to hurt each other.

So over we start again. Thankfully. Humbly. Sometimes the most perfect love is so flawed. We still want it, holes and all.

He went upstairs, with my hand in his and went in to kiss each sleeping child and then we went to bed at last, never sleeping, just lying there curled together in spoons, wide awake, marveling in silent over the touch of the one we love the most after so many days' absence.

Friday morning we got up reluctantly and reiterated our vows to not hurt each other, to not seek out others for comfort and to not mess up this chance we have been given. Also we reminded each other of our promise to raise Ruth and Henry together as a unit and how that above all else was so important and should supersede any argument we might find ourselves in.

We're going to keep things simple. Bridget + Jacob = Love.

The kids were so happy he was home at last.

Then he surprised me again and called Loch. On my phone, so Loch picked up instantly and Jacob told him that he was forgiven. That putting his family back together was more important to Jacob and so he as going to concentrate on that and let Loch go, that Loch was not important to him right now.

 (Run, Loch, run far far away.)

Loch had already taken the hint, thinking Jacob was staying away because he was in town and had flown home Wednesday.

Jacob asked if I could stop with the thousand-mile games of tag. His laugh was ragged, exhausted and drained. No singing, we're healing. No easiness yet as we're so anxious to not wound or perceive to offend that we've resorted to a funny little overly-cordial routine that shames him to no end. It will fade. We've gone through it before after arguments. Soon we'll slide back into the informal closeness we've spun into gold.

We took it back. It's our life and no one, and no series of events is going to mess it up now. Our foundation is solid, it's holding. It's precious and we're not going to play with it.

So now I think I'm going to have a nervous breakdown. One thing Jacob was remarkably proud of was how I continued to give myself the meds, I didn't throw or smash the hearing aids, I didn't fall into a hopeless state and look for escape and I didn't leave the wall up that I had built Thursday between when he spilled the beans and when he followed us to the airport.

And I held it together while he watched from beyond the fence as I tried to keep the kids busy and Bridget busy and continue to woodenly exist without him, which is hell on earth and I don't want it. Never again.

All this time he was up the road, in his old office, talking with God and with Sam too and missing me like crazy and walking down the street when it got too hard, to watch us rock in the hammock and read to each other and wait for him to come back.

So he did.

Jacob is here. Home at last.

And you know you're a parent when, after being up from 3 on with all sorts of wonderful drama going down, you still get up at 7 to spread the apple jelly on the bagels because, oh, the kids make such a mess if you don't. I swear to God I'm only parking them in front of a movie for a little while because if we don't get some sleep I might be a basket case by lunch.

More when I have my act together. Thank you God for bringing him back to me.

Here, have a whole song. It's what's in my head.

    When you try your best, but you don't succeed
    When you get what you want, but not what you need
    When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
    Stuck in reverse

    When the tears come streaming down your face
    When you lose something you can't replace
    When you love someone, but it goes to waste
    Could it be worse?

    High up above or down below
    When you're too in love to let it go
    If you never try you'll never know
    Just what you're worth

    Tears stream down your face
    When you lose something you cannot replace
    Tears stream down your face
    And I...

    Tears stream down on your face
    I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
    Tears stream down your face
    And I...

    Lights will guide you home
    And ignite your bones
    And I will try to fix you

He called.

    The only way out
    is letting your guard down and never die forgotten
    Forgive me my love
    I stand here all alone
    And I can see the bottom

    Promise me you'll try,
    to leave it all behind
    Cause I've elected hell,
    lying to myself
    Why have I gone blind?
    Live another lie
    You.

Jacob called.

He wouldn't talk to me, he asked me not to say anything, just to put the kids on one at a time. His voice was hoarse. His tone defeated and devoid of anything. When the kids were finished and Ruthie hung up despite my pleas for Jacob not to hang up as I grabbed for the phone they said only that he told them he loved them very very much and to look after mommy until he gets back. And that he loves mommy too and to tell her.

Until he gets back.

Until he gets back.

If he hadn't said that part I would have died. Solemn promises all around. He needs to look after mommy.

Live as though he is watching over you. A post-it on the side of the fridge. It's been there for three years.

Right. Who is he? I used to think that was God. Then I thought maybe it was Cole. Perhaps it's Jacob and he's maybe not far away. It would explain why I ate dinner last night with the kids even though I had no hunger, no taste and no drive to keep going except for hope that he might be proud that I haven't curled up into a ball and gone away somewhere dark inside.

He knows I can't, and this is my lesson. Keeping moving forward, that's the lesson, and waiting, that's the lesson too.

Monk.

hen Jacob hurts enough to run, he transforms himself into the monk. This is a true story about a man, a myth, a legend.

Oh gawd, Bridget. What in the heck?

(It's a pathetic attempt to amuse myself with the words I have. Now I fend for myself and I can prove to Jacob just how strong I am. Except at 4 am when I hear a noise and I'm not strong and then the loneliness looms in viciously and I somehow stave off a monumental panic attack with five of Jacob's journals in bed with me, using his words in my voice to self-soothe and hating, despising every single minute of it.)

When I met Jacob the farthest he had ever traveled in this world was from Newfoundland to Nova Scotia to further his university studies on his way to his masters degree. He was a small-town boy with a wide open heart and an easy, naive laugh. He was sweet, shy and innocent. So, so innocent.

And then he became my best friend. Me, the girl some have claimed will be the downfall of western civilization as we currently know it. Others truncate it down to simply "Cute but Dangerous."

The very first argument between us ended in a trip for him to Australia, when he proclaimed his only goal was to get as far away from me as he possibly could. I was so belligerent, I went out and bought him a big suitcase and told him it was big so he could stay away longer. He laughed and did just that, he was gone forever and I quickly realized the eve of a lengthy voyage was not the ideal time for yelling insults if I wanted him to hurry home, safe and sound.

He came back completely different and not the least bit put off by my antics.

Traveling alone in the big world is an eye-opener. It changes people. He learned to be self-sufficient, self-reliant. He learned to trust his instincts and order his needs from greatest to insignificant. He learned how to be Jacob.

It cemented his thoughts on spirituality and lengthened his skills in patience and understanding. Over the years he'd physically change too, adding muscles on his muscles from climbing freehand in Alaska and then the summits of Kilimanjaro, Kangtega and Acon-something-or-other in a two year span. He stopped cutting his hair and grew a full beard to stay warm, I liked it so much upon his return that he didn't shave it off very often after that, ever.

He learned he hates t-shirts as outerwear, that cords last forever, that shoes are a curse and that books run out quickly so it's better to take a notebook and a pencil because you can sharpen the pencil with your teeth and when the book is filled up you can start writing between the lines.

He found out that God is bigger than the boxes we put him into. He found out man should be more humble than he is and that people should try harder at everything they do and they'll reap the rewards of their efforts so much more sweetly.

He always brought me something beautiful from some place I couldn't pronounce, complete with a story about how he had to walk eight days up a frozen waterfall to get it or climb a tree infested with rabid monkeys in the pitch-blackness of night. The stories are heavily, hilariously embellished when they concern the trinkets he safeguarded in his pocket as he worked his way back to me. The efforts are not embellished, they are real. He discovered he was wanted and needed as he evolved visibly into the man he is today. He always runs as far as he can, knowing instinctively that when he comes home, things will be better.

He once went ninety-four days at a Carthusian monastery without speaking a word out loud and he claims it to be one of the defining moments of his life, somewhere between kissing me for the first time and discovering that it was okay that he hated wearing shoes. He did hard manual farm work there and prayed so much he didn't pray for weeks upon his return, and we had to remind him to answer questions.

He was growing on the inside, he told us.

He always came back from these trips peaceful and rested, fully stocked in spirituality and grace, brimming with faith and acceptance. He comes back as a monk and we get to see the transformation into a better man. Right before our eyes, he relaxes into an older, wiser Jacob, with that many more miles and experiences under his belt. That many more days he lived small in order to be a bigger person. His needs reduced to food, water, prayer and silence.

Jacob says you're never far enough away until you can no longer understand what people are saying to you, and everything you see is new and you don't know the customs or the dress and even the moon looks unfamiliar, framed in a setting you get to witness for the first time, with your very own eyes.

He gives himself harsh lessons to learn by making his trips as challenging as possible.

He goes just far enough away so that he can't see, he can't feel, and he can't touch. And there he does his mental penance, his brain learning to overcome what his body wants to have, his mind superseding his heart as the first in command.

It's a survivalist instinct. It's how Jacob gets through things. I've told you before he is a runner, or rather he was one, having pretty much stopped once he and I became something real enough to him that he no longer needed to escape from me and what I meant to him. Or so I thought. I can only hope that he is out there somewhere growing and changing and learning whatever he needs to learn in order to get through this.

And me, I'm taking my lessons at home, living like a monk, speaking in necessary phrases and boiling life down to our needs and our small comforts and no more than that as I wait for Jacob to make his way home, hoping he comes home full stocked in faith and at peace.

Basic needs, simple wants. It shouldn't be any more complicated than that and today, it isn't.

Facing music.

(Make this 2 of 2, or maybe it's part 2 of 3 if I'm lucky and it has a happy ending.)

    Time heals, time congeals around us
    Endless hours of wasted moments
    Understanding, not demanding
    Your eyes tell what you feel inside

    Setting sun can't shine, now you're gone
    Inside sleeping, my heart beating
    You know that you tried to hide it
    Shouldn't you have said what you meant
We're going down in flames here, bit by bit. Don't be surprised if I haven't answered many calls or emails. You may be angry with Jacob but in a few moments you'll be disappointed in me too.

Though oddly enough, most of you have been incredibly easy on Jacob based simply upon the kind of man he has been so far. For that you would be right. For that, I appreciate every last word you're sending me.

After the airport incident, we flew on to Toronto. I told the kids we were taking a few days to visit friends, and Jake was going to miss us and that's why he cried but we'd be home again soon. I was stone. And I couldn't reach Loch. Loch is supposed to be my emergency guy and he wasn't there. My big plan to run was falling apart already if I had nowhere to go, my arms full with the children, my head empty, focused on keeping the kids feeling a safety and security I have never had. I couldn't go home to the coast either.

Besides, I went hellbent on revenge.

Sadly, the only other people I knew in Toronto were Keira (Loch's ex-girlfriend who hates me), and Caleb. I reached Caleb, who sent a car for us and then showed us around his steel and glass executive apartment, so surprised by his good fortune he didn't bother trying to conceal the residual cocaine party that recently took place on his coffee table.

(Ohnoes. Bridgetwhyareyouhere?)

He was leering and smug and he scared the ever-loving fuck out of me, so I feigned exhaustion and locked the kids with me in his bedroom while he probably pouted outside the door on his leather couch the whole night through. I reached Loch early the next morning and he came to get us without stopping to breathe. We were whisked away to the other side of the city, away from the decadence and glass to the noise and combustion of Chinatown, to his new tiny apartment up on the fifth floor of a rickety little house.

Friday was the anniversary of Cole's death. Again to try and hold it together I locked the three of us in a room that night when the kids fell asleep and I just waited it out, the remainder of that day. Alone. So so alone.

Saturday it was sinking in. I lived through the year. I lived through Cole and I would live through Jacob too. Loch wanted to take the kids to the fair to distract them so we did and Loch unleashed all of his rage at Jake upon my head. Loch and Jacob have been at odds forever now. Jacob took Loch's place in my life. I used to go to Loch for everything. Then once I met Jacob I switched allegiances and Jacob became the knight. And then the king. Loch finally had a concrete reason to resent him and we both had an opportunity and a motive for payback of the worst kind.

Saturday night we put the kids to bed in Loch's room and went out on the balcony with plans to get completely shitfaced. He brought out some drinks and put his arms around me, settling me against the railing and I rested my head on his chest while I looked out and we counted stars and watched the city come out to play and talked and he soon sought to exploit the comfort I found in him and I let him.

I let him, up against the railing with his hands on my hips and it felt so good just to be loved by Loch. He was to be the least-painful choice in my foolish bid for revenge-lite, as if I could put a degree on it. I've gone to him a lot over the years, truth be told, to get away from Cole and then to get away from Caleb, who I've gone to to get away from Cole.

So, yes, I slept with Loch. The satisfaction of exacting payback was so fleeting before the remorse came flooding in on top of me and I drowned in shame. He made a half-assed offer that I could stay with him, one we both knew I'd turn down. Why can't we be like everyone else?

Everyone else always seems so happy and without guilt or fear or problems on the grand scale everything is with us. How do they do that?

Let's be them. Let's find out.

I don't like the answers I have now. They only bring more questions.

Sunday morning Jacob broke down the door. He knew the moment he saw me what I had done. He looked like hell, anguish painted in his eyes like a shroud and I realized he drove straight through to get me back and when he saw me he didn't want me anymore. He turned and left and I haven't seen him or talked to him. He hasn't called for the kids, nothing. No one will give him up if they know where he is.

And yes, Loch flew back with us. Because this is his problem now too. He wasn't about to send me back alone and watch me slide into oblivion, not knowing if Jake is coming home or not. He's not staying here, he's admirably facing the music bravely as a friend and answering to our other friends. I'm hardly answering the phone and not holding up at all, in contrast. I risked my heart and now it's close to dying. Bouncing back was never something I did well.

It still hurts to think about Jacob touching Sophie for a comfort I will never be able to give him as much as it does to know that I set out to break his heart. That I even wanted to break his heart. God help me, what in the fuck is wrong with me that I would do that?

I want my husband back. I don't care why he did it, I don't care why I did it, I just know that he is mine, and I am his and whatever else happens I want to be with him.

I am sorry.