Fin

"Who the hell told you that load of crap???"

A grim smile formed on my face and I informed Mr. Richards who exactly indeed told me such.  Or really, told Tristan.  Mr. Richards is the owner of a prominent industrial cleaning company in the area, and a regular customer at my store.  It occurred to me yesterday that it would be worth my while to at least inquire as to whether one would have to replace the carpet in a mobile home that was owned by a woman with 4 cats and therefore had several stains and a smell, or if it could just be steam cleaned.  Tristan's parents had informed him that we would have no choice but to rip out all the carpet and replace it, should we purchase that home. After bidding a lower offer and being turned down, we abandoned the prospect of such a nice home.  I left out who was involved and just kept my inquiry to the facts when I asked Mr. Richards for his professional opinion and estimate.

Mr. Richards leaned in close and narrowed his eyes quizzically.  "Who the hell told you that load of crap??? $200, maybe not even that much, could easily get the stains out and kill the smell.  Why would anyone tell you you'd have to replace the carpet???"

I sighed and mentally checked that question off my list of questions I've started in a silent investigation into what exactly has been going on.  This was the third, or fourth, "Who the hell" response I've received.  For example, I asked a property investor who fixes up homes, including mobile homes, if the noted problems we encountered at our old home would cost $15,000 (which included a new roof, furnace, etc).  The man balked, laughed, and then told me it would if we decided to pave the roof with gold.  He was a bit more polite in asking me where I received the original estimate.  I calmly explained it was from a contractor, which Tristan's adoptive father is.

In summation, it is incredible the amount of total deception that has occurred in Tristan's life and I can no longer feel anything but grief on his behalf.  The people he is supposed to be able to trust implicitly in his life have done nothing but lie to him and betray him when he wasn't looking, and that's not just his family I am talking about.  So-called friends hardly behave as such when his back is turned.  What can I do?

Absolutely nothing.  Not only is it not my place to call out every lie anyone has ever told him, the probability of him believing me is slim.  Messed up, I know, but of course I am the one who's lying.  The woman who gave herself to him, nearly carried his child and promised to bind her life with his for all eternity only wants....what?  Money?  Power?  Glory?  Sex?

To those of you who may actually be thinking "yes" to any of those, let me clarify something here and now.  I don't give a flying flip about money; it is merely a part of a system and a means of doing things that don't actually require money if you have the patience.  Already God is blessing my life in ways I can't even begin to describe and none of it requires any more than what I already bring home.

Power and glory only come from serving God.  And I certainly don't need marriage to Tristan or any other man to obtain them.  Should they be given it will only be because I served Him faithfully and with it comes a great deal of responsibility.

As for the sex....it is meaningless without love.  It goes down sweet as honey but turns to ash in the pit of the stomach once the realization sets in.  I could share a bed with any man I want (within reason of course) but it would mean nothing and be nothing more than a waste of valuable time.

I wanted to be Tristan's wife because I loved him.

I still love him.

So you see, I have no reason to lie to him.  Nor do I have the desire to.  The very thought makes me sick.  I pray with all my heart things will come to light and he will see what has been done, and that they will see what they have done to him.  I pray that these words will not fall on deaf ears or blind eyes.  Someone out there must care enough about him to help him.  Already I feel God moving, taking action, doing something in this mess.  Now all it takes is for true friends, true family, to stand up for what they know is right.

I am not sure if I will write again.  This journal has been a wonderful way to preserve the life experiences of a good man living a good life no matter what may come his way, written by the woman who loves him.  It saddens me to think that this may be the end.  At least we have a way to remember.

Y manu de tulu, Tristan Mu Nam.

Trust

Stay away from him.


"But...." I sighed and felt the flicker of hope for something new and better get snuffed out.  "He appreciates me.  For me.  Like, actually values what I value and believes what I believe, and......well, he appreciates me."

He's not who I promised you to.  You are not his to claim.


If I wasn't standing in the middle of my work area, I would have stomped my foot.  "Yeah?  Well the man you chose for me has thrown me away yet again!  AGAIN!  What am I supposed to do??  Wait for him to come back and use me again, drain me again, treat me like his most precious lover then act like I'm nothing, like I never existed?  What kind of life is that????"

You know the time is almost here.  And you know you can trust me.  What happened to trusting me?


Again, if it wasn't for work, I would have let the tears fall.  Only a few days ago I met a handsome young man only a year older than me, charming and adventurous and completely enamored with me.  He's strong in mind, heart and body, a practiced bowhunter and lover of all things Celtic and medieval.  Things like honor and loyalty are central to his person code of ethics.  Just by talking we learned we are identical in almost everything, so far anyways.  He wants me.  A part of me that yearns for better days minus the darkness wants him.  If I were to be honest, a BIG part of me wants to forget who I am, where I'm from, what I know, everything that has both enriched and completely ruined my life, and just run off with him into the woods to never return.

Stay away from him.  For his sake as well as yours.  He cannot have you.  You are promised to another.


"Yes.  I know this."  With another sigh, I felt my resolve crumble away to reveal a very shattered heart.  A heart that still beats for a man who threw it against the wall.  A heart that still loves, and clings to the last vestige of who I am.

You are my daughter.  


Is it too much to just want someone who will fight for you, who will die for you, who will take on the world long before they ever let go of you?  God did that for us.  And in my heart and soul I know He would not bind me to a man of any less strength and resolve because I am His daughter!  So why all this.....why do I sit here fighting back the tears and chanting to myself to trust Him, to trust Him, to trust Him?

It is easy to run away with a handsome bowhunter.  It takes an incredible amount of strength and fortitude, and ridiculously intense trust, to stand still and wait for something that seems almost impossible.  But nothing is impossible with God.  He has been talking to me through everything, from the direct voice in my heart to passages in Scripture that I would otherwise have never read, and even bringing in people to randomly tell me everything is going to be okay, stand strong and fight.  Songs start playing on the radio right when I wonder why I shouldn't just give up.

When I envisioned our wedding, starting wayyyyy back when I knew Jake as Tristan, I always saw myself getting shot.  Or stabbed.  Or someone jumping up to interrupt.  Whatever it was, for some reason I couldn't "see" our wedding without some form of tragedy occurring to me, and I'm not much of a worrier in those respects.

Now.....I gave it a go and asked God to show me what exactly I have to look forward to.  And it took my breath away.  So many flowers, so many happy faces, and no injuries.  No attacks.  And there he stood, tall and strong and golden in his glow, smiling at me with so much love in his eyes.  I yanked myself out of the vision because I couldn't believe it was still an option.  And then I tiptoed back into it, hardly able to grasp the idea that this could still happen.  It was better and far more beautiful than anything I have ever imagined on my own.  And no one tried to kill me.

I must go to sleep.  Tomorrow is full of battles to fight to get to the moment of peace.

"Great"

In this letter I will congratulate you, threaten you, and encourage you but first I want you to know how wonderful of a friend you have and how lucky you are to be sitting across from A Great. I’m sure that as the years go by, people will look up to Mira Willis and wish that they were in your very shoes. She is going to become a great and powerful woman someday and you should take this opportunity to learn all that you can from her. 

I have read that paragraph over and over in the past few days.  "A great and powerful woman".  "A Great".  The fact that the letter was signed by our late CO is not the only thing that adds weight to the words; it is that there is the possibility that it was actually penned by Nicks.  Written and signed, wholeheartedly endorsed, by the Goran Prince's guardian...and father.  Perhaps the two most important mortal men in Tristan's life.  Calling me A Great, foretelling of my rise to power.

There is a part of me, deep down, that knew of this already.  But it is difficult to see the possibilities of anything like that happening when everything has been stripped away.  As I write this I have no home, no car, and no means to obtain either.  Material things don't bother me so much anyways.  It's that Tristan has....well, he remains silent.  And distant.  Very, very distant.

Pain

One individual I was so afraid to speak with due to my seeming inability to refrain from strangling attempts has, in fact, been most insightful.

Rachel and I....have our rocky history as frenemies, but within the past year she has been most decidedly a friend much, much more than an enemy.  Okay, so some other friends shared with Tristan and I things she supposedly said behind our backs, but I just confronted her about it and she did have valid points to reconsider.

Anyhow, I digress.

It seems she spoke with Tristan the night before he gave me the letter stating our separation.  Grilled, was the term she used.  Just to make sure he was fully cognitive of what he was deciding to do.

"You know why he did it?"

"I know what he told me," I answered her as we discussed the elephant in the room.  I have not gone fully public with these turn of events while Tristan was swift to announce it to his family and friends, such as Rachel.

"He was pretty lucid when I talked to him about it...and kind of irritated...."

I frowned.  "What did he tell you?"

"That you weren't being very supportive of [him] being in the hospital and that he needed to have people in his life that will help him get better and not tell him to 'fake getting better so he can get out of there'."

My heart dropped into my stomach.  An invisible sledgehammer slammed into my chest.  Rachel meant no ill will, I understand that.  I asked a question and she answered honestly, from what information he gave her.  The fact that THAT was what he told her....

I made one stupid comment in the midst of frustration with medical science and its inability to do anything (or so it seemed at the time).  What I meant to ask him was if he felt he had it in him to fight the entities that plague him and just ignore them as much as humanly possible, as had been done by many people in his same situation.  I missed him terribly but wanted him to get better, by any means necessary, and shoving the "voices" aside is one means.  What I wanted to know was if he thought he could potentially accomplish that.  What actually flew out of my mouth was, "Can't you just fake it so you can get out of here?"

Tristan looked at me in pure, insulted horror.  "I can't believe you just said that."

I couldn't either.  I was dumbfounded by the callous voice that popped out of my own mouth with such a horrible question.  After a moment's pause, and Tristan saying something in defense, I quickly and sincerely apologized.  Even my apology sounded like someone else's voice.  But it was still me.

Of course Tristan has no idea what I've been doing since the moment he was admitted into the hospital.  The people I've talked with, the ongoing rallying among prayer warriors for his healing.  An ENTIRE church is spreading the word like wildfire to pray and pray intensely for Tristan's full recovery and healing!  I have consulted more church leaders than I can count, I have reached out to ministers in various cities, I've even inspired non-Christians to start praying!  My workplace is humming with prayer for him.  The internet is humming with (anonymous) prayer for him.  And amidst all that, I have been consulting with financial planners to find a way to secure a safe home for us so he has a haven to feel comfortable and peaceful in.  I've rewritten my budget so we can have healthy groceries, I've ended unnecessary accounts, I fasted for three whole days in prayer to bind myself even closer to God so I can be a better person and a better companion for him!

And yet, I'm not supportive.

If I thought the universe was kicking my ass before, it just dealt a harder blow.  I feel like I could physically puke what little is in my stomach because, haha, I struggle to even find an appetite.

While everyone else scrambled for medicine to sedate him, I sought an actual cure.  I have been searching for people to help us pray, to plead with God for mercy and healing on his behalf.  I have been begging God night and day, even after Tristan broke it off with me, to spare him the horrors of what he's endured and to just let him live in peace.  To heal him.  To help him feel strong again.

To give him the best life imaginable, even if it means I'm not in it.

The pain is incredible.  And yet I still pray, I still plead with God, I still beg.

I love him, so much.  Doesn't that count for something?

Dreams....Interrupted

I'm not sure what to write.  Just....something.

Admitting my everlasting sadness over the loss of our would-be child did help.  A little.  At least now I don't feel like I'm hiding in the shadows anymore.  Or as much.  Often in my mind these days I hold her, praying that we will have her again one day soon.  Most of the time I beg her forgiveness.  While I'd still do anything to turn back the clock and undo the terrible mistake, I feel more at peace.  Maybe because I know, somehow, she forgives me.

Some days ago I dreamed of glowing light and beautiful sunshine in a clean, warm home.  Tristan and I lay together on the couch, nuzzling and softly talking about anything that came to mind.  Our son, who looked to be about three years old, played with his toy trucks and blocks on the carpet just a few feet away.  From another room came the soft cries and babbling of a baby, somehow I knew it was a girl.  I asked Tristan if I was still beautiful to him.  He smiled, kissed me warmly, and said I was even more beautiful to him now that I've carried our children.  My body had the softness of a mother and he loved every curve.  He was going to show me just how much he loved my curves but I reminded him that Junior was right there and we had a baby girl to attend to.

I woke up on a mattress on the floor of a friend's house, alone and in the grayness of early dawn.  I smiled inside, knowing that soon it would be reality.

And that night, when I went to visit Tristan, he handed me a letter.  Then after I read it and swallowed every scream of pain and horror that threatened to erupt, he told me he fell out of love with me.  We're over, the wedding is off, he doesn't love me.

When I finally went back to our friend's house, I sobbed into a pillow and begged God why He would give me such a beautiful dream when He knew it would be ripped to shreds the same day.

To have something to hold on to.