Softer Memories. Gentler Wishes.

I washed the supper dishes tonight and then drained the sink. A residue of suds and grease remained on the stainless steel. I wiped it with the dish cloth and for the millionth time, thought of Donna. She'd always leave the mess in the sink after she'd pulled the plug. It always bugged me. And I always complained about it. I complained about most everything she did, Ms J, or didn't do.

Donna is my ex-wife. My second ex-wife. The wife I loved. We were married in June 1998 and separated in May 2000. We've been divorced a long time now, and she's since remarried. She lives in Holland somewhere. I don't reckon I'll ever see my Donna Lesa again. But I still think of her.

I think of her when I boil the kettle for tea. She always put too much water in it, and I always complained. Even though she was making tea for me, I couldn't resist the urge to find fault.

I think of her whenever I find a convenient parking spot. She always seemed to find a good spot right away while I'd have to drive round for ten minutes to find a spot a hundred yards from the shop I wanted. And I always complained.

I think of her whenever I think of using drugs. Speed. 2C-B. Ex. Whatever. She always seemed to get off first and enjoy it more. I was always jealous. And I always did my best to make her feel guilty. Don't worry, Ms J. Those days are behind me now. Well behind me.

She threw me out and I was so hurt back then, so angry and bitter. I loved her madly and despised her at the same time. But she'd fallen out of Love with me. She'd had enough and she couldn't wait to divorce me and begin Life anew as a Dutchman's bride. Gosh it was painful.

It's strange, you know, how my feelings have mellowed. Back in those dark days, I thought I might perish from the pain. Indeed, Ms J, I hoped I would. I prayed for relief even if it meant death. So much pain. So much hatred.

I still think of Donna, but the thoughts don't hurt anymore. I remember the good times. I remember our first date and the pub, Toozers, where we met. I remember our first kiss, in Marie Curtis Park in Long Branch. I can still recall my first trip to Cape Breton Island, Donna's home, and the warm reception from her family there. I remember long talks and longer drives. I remember her smell and the warmth of her body beside me in bed. A cotton night gown with Mickey Mouse on the front. The feel of her arms around me. And her soft lips and luminous smile. In my mind, I can still hear echoes of her laughter and it makes me smile. It makes me smile.

I no longer pine for her, Ms J, or regret our break-up. It was all for the best, really it was.

But I wonder sometimes if she remembers me, if she thinks about the good times we had, and how much I loved her. I sometimes pray that she might find this blog and read it and know of my struggles and my successes. I want her to know I'm alright now. I'm happy for the most part. Things have changed so much since she last saw me. I want her to know about Dan and David and about Meagan and about my sister Helen and her cancer. I want her to know about my Life. But I understand she might not care.

And that's OK, I guess. I don't imagine we have much in common anymore. Nothing but the six years we spent together.

If you ever read this, Donna, I hope you'll comment. I want you to know that although we can't be together, I will always love you. I love you better now than I ever did back then. And I wish you peace.

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