My Suzanna

Silent tears were streaming down my face. “I wasnt meant to give up on her,” John was saying, his own eyes teary. “She wouldnt go out with me, but I kept trying. I just wasnt meant to give up on her,” he paused as if remembering his younger self- handsome and agile, full of energy, and completely infatuated and unexplainably drawn to Suzanna. “I bought her a dozen yellow roses, it was during lent so I thought yellow would be an appropriate color,” he explained. “And it was those roses that made her finally agree to go out with me,” he paused and the tears that had welled up in his eyes started to spill out. 

“She died May 23rd and the church was full of yellow roses,” he paused to cry and we were all there, listening to him. I knew, I just knew Suzanna was in the room with us. She was with John, listening to him too. “I miss her every single day,”he continued. “I still feel sad and I cry because I miss her so much. I cant believe Im crying now in front of all of you to be honest. But thats how much I loved her, thats how special she was to me. And shes irreplaceable. And I miss her.”

The room was quiet in observance of John, the one hundred year old dinosaur who refuses to get hearing aids and spends half the group session hollering at us to speak up. “You said you feel what?” He will interject and poor soft spoken Christy will have to raise her voice the best she can, completely pained in having to yell “I feel worried,” across the room, only to have him ask, “about what?” Kel will take over and recap Christys share to John and Christy will give her a look that says thank you. 

But today, the prompt was loneliness, and it created such a clear divide between the younger ones in the group and the older ones-the yodas. The younger ones felt lonely with other people, with not being understood, overwhelmed by the internet, the facade of social media, the confusion and disconnection of texting. Always navigating love head over heart- afraid of vulnerability and rejection. The labels we use to dismiss unworthy people- obsessive, thirsty, desperate. Red flags, yellow flags, green flags- always playing defense against others. Everyones ego getting in their own way. It seemed that to be of this world was to suffer loneliness- everyone screaming into the void, reaching to be heard and seen by others but never feeling fulfilled or special to anyone. There was no one worth fighting for because youd just find another. John couldnt relate to any of that, he was lonely because he wasnt with his Suzanna anymore. The most special person in his life, who he missed terribly. 

“My kids tell me its ok for men to cry now,” he said, his voice cracking. “I cry every night without her. But I also thank God every night for the life I got to spend with her. She was special.” This touched my heart in such a way that I just cried, I couldnt help it. “Jennifer, Im wondering what this is bringing up for you?” Inga asked gently and everyone turned their attention to me, my hair covering my wet face, my nose running. She was blocking John from me and she moved out of the way ever so slightly, bringing me into his view. John looked at me. Both our faces tear stained, “I didnt mean to make you cry!” He exclaimed, wiping his nose with a handkerchief he had in his pocket. “No, no John, its, I feel all the love and all the loss in your voice. Its beautiful. Your love story is beautiful,” I told him meekly and we both just cried together. “I hope everyone can have a love story like me and my Suzanna,” he told us. 

I was imagining young John, holding a bouquet of yellow roses and standing nervously on Suzannas porch like he had done several times before with no luck. Her father answering the door and reluctantly going to get Suzanna. “That boy is here for you….again,”  hed tell her and then peek out the curtains of the front window, watching them. I was imagining young John in the world today, interpreting Suzannas rejection as a sign shes not the one. How easily he would give her up and if he didnt, the restraining order she would file against him with the police. “I wasnt meant to give up on her, not her,” he had said so confidently. Implying that she was a cry of his soul. She was his reason to be courageous. 

I was imaging young John in this world, wounded by her rejection and nursing his ego by drinking at a bar with his friends. Scrolling through profiles on dating apps- picking out another suitor like you would pick out a pet from the animal shelter. This one is the right age, the right look, the right height, the right job, this one will do. Or would he only have been searching for Suzanna in every other woman? Would he still have fought for his Suzanna? In his story was my own personal longing to be of another time. 

“Ive never felt that type of love,” Janet said softly and luckily John didnt ask her to say it louder. “I probably will never have it, Im just as old as you John,” she looked at her lap. “I think everyone is deserving of that type of love too though, I do. I just didnt get to experience it I suppose. Ive always been and always will be at this point, alone.” Kel reached out and held Janets hand and her added sentiments filled my eyes up with a new set of tears. God, please send someone for Janet. Please. And hurry up, time is running out-shes as old as John. 

“Never say never,” Inga told Janet and they smiled at one another. “I am hopeful,” Janet said. “As ridiculous as that may seem at my age, Im still hopeful.”

These old people were wrecking me. They had filled my heart up to the brim with emotions, swirling around me, the only way to express them through tears. At break I ran across the street and cried in a bush. 

When Inga asked me if and when I ever feel lonely, I had responded, “I only feel lonely in the presence of others.” It was such a sad statement, but one that had everyone under forty nodding with me. “Why is that do you think?” Inga asked. I thought. “Because to not feel lonely is to feel connected right? And to be connected you have to properly listen to someone else. You have to remove yourself from what they are saying and just listen. Not think about how you are going to respond or framing everything they are saying through your lens, your perspective. You take yourself completely out of it so that you can give them the respect of being heard.” Kel looked at me, “Listening to others is a form of love,” she said. “It is,” I agreed and then repeated sadly, “it is.”

“Is it easier for you to listen than to be heard?” She asked me. “Yes,”I admitted. “I want to hear everything someone has to say, I want to make them feel,” I looked at Kel pathetically, “loved.” I felt so much pity for myself then. Poor pathetic ninnymuggins Jenn.

“I think my Suzanna thought I was special too,”John announced. “I could never love anyone as much as I loved my Suzanna” he said, his handkerchief wet with tears.