|
I'm Sorry She Couldn't Love Me by Benjamin Michael
True love doesn't know money, property, or prestige. It doesn't care about the house you live in or the car you drive. "Things" mean nothing to love. As Kevin Spacey admonished Annette Benning in the Oscar-winning movie 'American Beauty,'
"It doesn't mean anything! It's all.... just... STUFF!!"
Being less than the quintessential Barbie or Ken isn't what love is about. Being attractive to your partner is important, but if we're holding out for physical perfection some of us have a long wait. Love accepts us for who we are. Love, true love, is willing to make sacrifices and accept the good with the bad. And as the great American author Henry Miller so aptly observed, "To love completely is to give completely."
I've been blessed to encounter the sweet joy of love, but unfortunately, the giving was unbalanced.
We met online, just a little less than two years ago. I felt as though the sky had opened up and God had given me a special present. I cherished it as though it were a special gift. She was my priceless treasure and I loved her. We chatted about everything possible and told each other our deepest darkest secrets. For six months we chatted on the Internet as friends, open and real. Finally, we agreed to meet, and she came to see me.
It was the most passionate, tender time I'd ever spent with a woman. --It's important to mention that we didn't have sex on that first visit, but our passion and desire was intense and totally encompassing, like the warmest blanket on the bed. I was excited to build a relationship on something warm, sweet, and tender. I felt we were going about it the right way.
We gradually fell in love and when we had sex it was amazing. We spent hours on the phone like school children. We met as often as we could, juggling the difficulties of her full-time job, my hours of classes, and the formidability of 110 miles that separated us. We spent weekends together and those weekends were heaven on earth. I never had such a wonderful time with anyone as I did with her. She told me she felt the same. She told me our love was unique, that she never made love with a friend like she had with me. I made her feel safe and warm. I was her Prince Charming and she was my gem, my jewel, and my beautiful flower. When we kissed I felt as though we were soul mates, and met in another life. She told me I made her very soul feel kissed. I thanked God for the love of this wonderful woman.
We talked about everything and she expressed her desire to be with me forever. She thought about it carefully and wanted to be with me no matter what. She said, "Benjamin if they could look past the wheelchair and see what I see, they would know what a wonderful man you are." We talked about marriage. One day, beaming with love, pride and joy, I gave her a beautiful diamond and asked her to marry me. She said, "Yes Benjamin, I will marry you." I was ecstatically happy and content--I had found my true love and she had consented to be mine! We spoke of hopes, dreams, and a life of "happily ever-after". We even pondered children.
She was excited about our engagement and couldn't wait to show off her ring. She flashed it around work and told everyone she was getting married. We were to have a long engagement and marry after I finished school. Eventually I'd move south to be with her, and pursue a career.
As time went on however, I sadly came to realize that things were not what they seemed to be. She didn't want to tell her parents of our engagement. Her friends at work wanted to know about me and she didn't seem to know what to tell them. I was hoping to meet her friends, but that never came to pass. The woman I loved began to hedge. Disability became an issue above who I was as a person, and the love we shared. I sensed shame when she spoke of telling her friends and family of us.
My worst fears had begun to turn into a horrible reality, all too soon I started hearing the words a man never wants to hear: My love told me that she was frustrated and disappointed that I could not sexually dominate her. I couldn't throw her down hard and rough the way she liked to be taken. I tried my best to think of everything, to cover all the bases. When we face the adversity of a disability we overcome and work things out. We adapt. We may do things differently but they still get done. I pointed out the sweetness our sex life and that what we had was fulfilling. I told her we could get a love swing. (Have you seen them? It's a swing your lover sits in for greater mobility. Imagination not included.)
It was no use. She could not be convinced. It didn't take long for her to give me back my ring. I tried to be understanding and wanted to be with her at all costs. I assured her we could work it out. She agreed we had too much between us to lose. Eventually the little things she wanted become insurmountable barriers--I couldn't walk in the surf, through a meadow, hike along a creek, or go on a roller coaster. She felt as though she couldn't fly and be free with me.
Finally she told me she couldn't be with me because I have Muscular Dystrophy, and my confinement to a wheelchair was too restrictive to her. Sexually she wanted more of a physical lover. She told me my life was too difficult for her to be with me. She couldn't handle it.
I find it interesting many women are committed to lying, cheating, and abusive men. They stay with them through thick, thin, drug abuse, alcoholism, thievery, prison, adultery, bankruptcy, and let's not forget screwing the best friend. Why do woman devote themselves to such men yet balk at a man with a disability? I know the adversity of disability is not for the weak at heart but this is a question worth asking.
As a man, I have felt the rejection and disappointment men feel from the loss of a woman, but I've also felt the issues of love, sex, and intimacy as it applies to a man who uses a wheelchair. In the beginning, I felt loved and accepted completely. The effect was overwhelming; I was complexly swept away. When I was with her I felt I had a teammate, a playmate, and a cheerleader, of my very own. I felt she understood and saw past the difficulties. More importantly I felt I had something to offer her that was worthwhile and loving. Society dishes out such a negative stereotypes toward people with disabilities, and I didn't think she bought into it. Sadly, I feel she saw me as, "that guy in the wheelchair."
After suffering major devastation and heartache, I still miss the beautiful woman I called my "Sweetpea". I think about her everyday and wish things had been more like a fairy tale with a happily-ever-after ending instead of a sad Shakespeare tragedy. My head and heart still battle. Sometimes, I succumb to the negative thought that my life is too difficult to share. I also realize my heart is full, and I'm a passionate, caring and loving soul. I'm able and capable to love and be loved beyond any doubt. I also have to realize that the woman I loved is in many ways an immature forty-three year old woman who could not deal with the realities of life on wheels.
Regardless of the outcome, I am proud I did not hang back in the shadows, nor remain on the sidelines as a watcher instead of a participant. I was dealt a hand, played it and took my chances. I suffered a loss and gained experience. Indeed, like the old saying goes, "sometimes you get the elevator, sometimes you get the shaft," but we keep on going. I loved and lost, and learned through hard experience. Experience creates greater understanding, which in turn creates greater compassion.
Meanwhile, I'm grateful to be alive and well. I'm willing to examine my feelings, learn and grow from them. I may cry, and dwell on my emotional pain but I'm working through it. Time is always our best ally. I find great comfort that I'm not the only one who has been hurt and disappointed by the loss of love. When I love again I will be stronger. This article appears in the following topics:
|
