A Visit from the Dear Friend I Never Met

I dreamed last night about Elizabeth Edwards.

She is a heroine of mine. Her books touched me deeply, and I mourned her death. I selfishly miss her because I think she still had things to teach me. There was something about her unsparing candor and inherent dignity that got through to me and made me hear her. I think that's why I dreamed of her.

An ex has been on my mind after a decades-long respite. He contacted me out of the blue in 2008 and has continued to do so with regularity -- through a friend, through Facebook, through my work email (that really freaked me out). He wants to talk to me, to apologize, even visit me in person to gain my forgiveness.

I don't forgive and I don't trust him. The cruelty he was capable of (both physical and emotional) was breathtaking. The insensitivity he shows by continuing to approach me, even though I have given him no encouragement whatsoever, indicates he's still narcissistic and heedless of my feelings.

I came upon his name and photos of him this Thursday because a national newspaper did a front page human interest story about him. At first it awakened my inner cynic -- I wondered how many asses he kissed, how many he had to dazzle with his obviously still-potent superficial charm, to get that kind of exposure.

Then I kept returning to it. The same way you can't keep your tongue out of a cavity. Staring at his picture, remembering his voice.

And last night I heard from my buddy Elizabeth. We were sitting together in in her Chapel Hill home, and she was telling me to just let it go. That the past is pfft! gone. That I have to live in the here and now, and he has no place in my here and now. That I have to accept the scars -- visible and invisible -- forgive myself for falling for him, and concentrate on my own life.

How wise of her! And how resilient of me to call upon her.