I hate Christmas music, with one exception, “O Holy Night.” Driving home my finger accidentally hit the station number that has holiday music on 24/7 from now until Christmas. When that happens my body usually tenses up anytime I hear the first notes of holiday schmaltz take over the interior of my car. But as soon as I heard “O Holy Night” come through the speakers I just smiled and sighed because you will always be that song for me, always, for the rest of my days on this earth.
It was nearly 20 years ago that we celebrated the Carol of Lights at Texas Tech University. The air was chilly and cold, without snow, in that typical Panhandle Texas way that winter would give us cold without snow. The whole campus is lit up at once in holiday lights galore with the tradition of a soloist singing “O Holy Night.” You’re holding me against you, and you can’t help but whisper the words to the song in my ear as the soloist sings. I can still hear your slightly twangy, yet distinguished, smarty sounding voice. I loved the strange combination of the Texas twang with a certain je ne sais quoi that gave you that nerdy cache that had me from the start.
“The thrill of hope …” was everywhere. Your whispered song was hope set free, and for that moment in time all was well. I am glad that neither of us knew that I would break your heart, and leave you for someone who would turn out to be a not very good choice for me, someone with whom I would ultimately stay with for 10 years out of the belief that I deserved no better. I had no idea that we would wind up dating when I was frequently phoning you as assistant stage manager because you failed to make rehearsal yet again. You were frequently tardy or absent, and your sheer talent is the only thing that kept you in the cast, that and your sweet demeanor.
“… the soul felt it’s worth …” You were the first person to ever really show me the worth of my soul. I was not ready to truly learn that worth, but I’ve never forgotten that you certainly tried. Do you remember the time I tried telling you I was bisexual, and that I had feelings for someone else? You only picked up on the bisexual part of what I was telling you. I still recall what you told me as we ate in my favorite Vietnamese restaurant, “It doesn’t matter to me that you’re bisexual. I still love you.”
“… a new and glorious morn …” dawned for us separately. Much, much later I learned that I have DID, and I am now beginning to understand the system within me that caused me to make chaotic decisions in my life, specifically, the decision I made to cheat on you and leave you. I am so glad that you found happiness elsewhere with someone else. I wish I could have/would have treated you differently. But things happened as they happened, and the only peace I have is that you are happy. I finally have some answers, and that has to be enough.
But, yes, for that moment in time it was a divine night.
All my best,
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)