Dillhole Part Deux

My next door neighbor Randy is friends with Dillhole. They do the happy hour thing and play soccer together. A couple of days ago Randy told me that Dillhole's Mother had died. His Father had also died less than 6 months ago. I felt my stomach turn. Tears came to my eyes. I was heartbroken for him. Apparently his Mom had moved in with him after his Dad died. It sounded like she had died of heartbreak. I asked Randy if he had the same cell number and I blurted out a string of 7 numbers that had been deleted from my phone, but were engrained in my brain. Randy said it was the right number. I called it and got a recording that the number was not receiving calls. I am pretty tech savvy--I didn't think you could block cell numbers, but it seemed like I had been blocked. I told Randy I couldn't get through. He didn't know much of our story (I was always a secret).  Randy told me that Dillhole (I feel disrespectful continuing to call him that--let's call him D which is the initial of his first name) played soccer the day after his Mom died. That is so D. He would put his head in the sand and act like everything was great even when his world was imploding. It actually helped ease the sting of a 12 year old memory of him leaving me in my apartment in a very low place to go to volleyball practice. The lightbulb went off. I had resented the FUCK out of him for years. I realized it was the best that guy could do.

But enough about me. The man I was in knock down, drag out love for years is in pain. I accepted the fact that I couldn't call him and realized that is for the best. I wrote a simple note and put it in the mail.

I may go back at a later date and fill in the rest of the story. There is a lot more. Right now I will let it rest.