“Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists. Herein lies the peace of God.”-A Course in Miracles

When I first read on Facebook that he had passed, I was in shock! His daughter shared that, for the second time in less than two months, she had received an early morning call about another loss in the family.

As I kept reading, I learned that Maurice had lost his younger sister Sheila as well.  Two years earlier, he had lost his oldest brother, Vernon. My heart sank, and I was overwhelmed with emotion.

He was very dear to me and the only man I ever lived with as a partner, as husband and wife. I spent much of my young adulthood, and into my late 40s, with him, and needless to say, I felt helpless. 

Helplessness is a dreaded emotion, isn’t it? 

Our love story began after college in Los Angeles. I returned to LA to visit my sister after graduation, since she had just had a baby, and she introduced us. It wasn’t love at first sight for me (does this even exist?), But he pursued me in a way no one else ever had. I’ve been lucky in love, but I had never been courted like that before, and he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. 

He would surprise me with flowers, gifts, and love notes.  He would show up at my home early in the morning, at my work, and we talked at all hours of the day and night.  My love for him kept growing, and after about five years of dating on/off, we moved in together.  

We had a rather wonderful experience, yet it was during those years that I also felt the most significant pain.  I don’t think I had ever given myself totally physically or mentally to a man before, and I was taken by surprise as his challenges began to surface, as did my despair. 

You see, I grew up in a loving home filled with music, laughter, and the comfort of caring parents. I hadn’t known real heartache until I met him, but the joy we shared was delightful. Still, he loved my family, and my family loved him.

He was a lover of life, music, and laughter, a kind, gentle soul who captured my heart. 

When I learned he had passed after so many years apart, all the memories and emotions returned. I found myself reflecting on the spiritual journey we both undertook, feeling a profound peace mingled with sorrow. There was freedom in knowing that he was now reunited with his loved ones, and I took comfort in the belief that he was embraced by a divine presence, experiencing joy beyond human understanding. In those moments, I could almost feel the whispers of assurance that his soul was at rest and surrounded by everlasting love.

Today, you are being laid to rest, Maurice, and I have moved past the early shock, pain, and sadness.  I know this loss was “something” I needed, as if your passing swallowed up our past forever.  You told me many times that you loved me, and you wrote that heartfelt letter when we parted ways, saying you thought we would grow old together. 

Yet God had other plans.

You’re in a better place now, as cliché as it sounds.  I’ll never forget when you said your parents would go straight to heaven when they passed. They truly were terrific people, and I’m sure they DID go straight to heaven. (I still see you smiling mischievously, doing the sign of the Cross, and looking up as if your parents were being transported to Heaven.) 

 Our lives took different paths even back then—they moved to Florida, while we were in LA and then Texas. I’m grateful that after we broke up, you spent your last years with them, just as I always hoped you would.

I know we both tried, but it just wasn’t meant to be. Now you are in your eternal, glorious relationship with Jesus, and one day I’ll be there too. It will happen on His terms, not ours.

Do I have regrets? That’s a tricky question. I know I broke up with you, and I had my trepidations for many years. I know you were disappointed in me, but I was disappointed by your actions and by the reasons I had to end it.

It’s all in the past now, buried under the sky. I forgive you for the disappointment, and I forgive myself for the decisions I made. This is now my present moment!

This acknowledgement brings me peace and honors our shared journey. I can let go physically and emotionally, but you’ll always be part of my good memories in LA—the concerts, Dodgers, Rams, and Lakers games, the snow, the cabins, our favorite winery near your work, Gladstones, and the other foodie spots we loved to visit.  So many lovely moments, too many to mention! 

We played golf in the middle of the day when we should have been working, went to the movies, and did so many fun and romantic things together. The beach, the mountains—LA was our little haven. We’d drive down to San Diego for the weekend, or maybe head to Vegas for another weekend away.  We were free to explore life’s pleasures then. 

We even spent weekends at Big Bear Lake, Lake Arrowhead, and high atop the LA Canyons.   I remember you loved to fish.  All those beautiful memories aren’t gone forever. You took them with you, but I still have them too—a kaleidoscope that constantly swirls by when I think of you fondly. 

It feels strange to write this last love letter to you, since I won’t be at your farewell today. Our lives went separate ways twenty years ago, but I want to say thank you—for the good, the not-so-good, the songs, the poems, the hugs, the kisses, and the sweet love we shared.

(Why post something so personal? Isn’t that what stories are? Our thoughts in written form, allowing those bits that are too hard for us to hold, to come through?)

Thank you even for the pain, because it was in those dark moments that I grew most into the woman I am now. Those good times helped me overcome the pain and gave me the wisdom I use today to help others by offering support and sharing my experiences. I have lent an understanding ear to friends, family, and my own clients in difficult times, guiding them to find their own peace and strength, just as I found mine.

When we had to be apart, you would often say to me, “Vaya con Dios.”

This love letter isn’t a goodbye or “Vaya con Dios.” I know God has already welcomed you into His eternal kingdom, since you loved Jesus in your own way, especially in your later years. I will say, “Ya Estás con Dios!”  You made it! 

I have no final words.  Does a fated love story ever end?

I know we’ll recognize each other’s smile in heaven. I picture us meeting in a beautiful garden, surrounded by the warmth of sunlight and the gentle whisper of the wind. Your laughter will fill the air, and we can finally share all the stories we missed during our time apart as we hear our favorite songs one more time.

Maybe only then, “Changito,” will we have the “perfect” relationship we always hoped for on Earth. Just know that I will always love you.

“Your Changita,”

Maida