San’s system, or San, has returned my ring to me. I am not certain whether this means San is dead or no. I find it disturbing, but not unexpected. I know if I were dead, mine would be sent to him.
When I received this ring (of course it was not addressed to me, as though I do not exist), I felt largely sorrow. During the three weeks San was with me again, of course I remembered why it is I love him so. And when he left again, I learned anew that love is not the same as trustworthy, nor respectful.
My sense is that some of this is a war within their system. I believe San, and Li as well, would have grown to meet us in our continued joy of our children’s growth, and indeed of love between us all, albeit an altered love, after deep betrayals. But they could not be permitted it, I suppose. Not unless we entered into the pretense that anything ill they did was justified. And this, we could not do. Not while our children watched. I would enter into many lies for my beloved, but not at the price of my children’s home.
I am content at times to give the blame to the warrior queen, or at least to fail to acknowledge the dance she performs daily on the edge of the knife. But not this time.
Perhaps in a few years time something will alter. I am not certain what will be left. I will always love San. But I may not always be…I suppose the word is available. In the past I have always remained so, however, and it would not take very much to breach any new resolution.
But it will not start as partners. For the ring is returned. And I have seen too much.
Our once-therapist said that sometimes people go to great lengths to preserve the illusion that they had control and power in a situation. While I did not agree, I understood along which road she was driving. Now I have observed the great lengths to which people will go to believe themselves powerless. I must say that if my children must choose, I hope they choose the power. Better that they not choose at all.
The warrior queen wonders if we kept the items for which they ask. We did. But the items for which they ask are the wrong items, and it is interesting. They ask for the items which bind them to their family of origin, the nostalgia for the past. Nothing that was so significant between us. They will be returned, in time; I cannot see us doing it while this back mends, but there is no need to be petty about them.
What I wonder is, by then, to whom will we be returning them?