Just wanting to be sure

At five minutes after 9:00, he agrees.

At five minutes and five seconds after 9:00, I breathe.

Through the hours, through dinner, through the drive home, through the park with Cheyenne, I never lost focus. I managed to pull out every word, every argument I know, every angle, every bargain, every ounce of reason. I begged. I brought up the dedication of the past, the promise of the future. I held tight to the reasons.

Nothing.

I could not reach him, could no break though his wall.

And then I broke.

It's funny what comes out of you when you break, funny what words, what truth I heard coming from my mouth. I didn't know that I needed him, but there went the words. What came out of my mouth was that I needed to believe in him because I needed to believe in a man. I told him that I needed help. And those words came out of me from the bottom of my raw heart and the top of my lungs, beneath a flood of all-too-familiar tears. As I screamed and cried, he heard me. And I heard me.

I scared both of us.

Finally, he said that he'd stay. I looked at the clock; it was five minutes and five seconds after nine.

You might think that I'm writing about the man who broke my heart, and if you're thinking that, I imagine you are all up in arms and seeing red at this point, but let me calm your nerves by telling you that I'm writing about my nephew. His part is to stay in school for the next ten weeks even though he does not want to because he's so burned out that he hates every minute. What works against him is that the desire and language of self-sabotage and quitting are in his pattern. But he needs to stay, understand. And I need for him to stay as well.

What I want to admit here is that at the midst of my top-voice breakdown, I burned my heart with the realization that I don't have a man in my life who I can believe in, rely on, trust.

My lessons include my nephew, but where does that leave him? This should not be his problem but it is his burden. I realize that the belief has been ripped from me. I realize that I'm saddling my nephew with that. It's not his fault or responsibility, what has been taken from me, nor is it his fault the bruises both familial and romantic, but I look to him to be different.

He falls asleep tonight regretting the pain he's caused me and I fall asleep relieved that I could talk him down from his Crazy Tree. I fall asleep tonight with a different awareness of me, and as I write these words, I remember the words I read to my mother earlier in the day:

Piglet sidled up to Pooh. Pooh, he whispered.

Yes, Piglet?

Nothing, said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, I just wanted to be sure of you.

I think sometimes he just needs to take a paw, to know he's not alone. I think sometimes we all need that.