"It Begins And Ends With You"


My dearest friend,

I write this not knowing if I will ever have the courage to give it to you.  Maybe I am just writing you in hopes that the weight will be lifted from my heart or maybe it's my way of trying to ensure my future sanity.  I fear that what I write will be laughed at by others, but am willing to accept such ridicule.  Your loss has forced me to a place that most men aren't comfortable talking about, nor am I comfortable being here.  Truth be told, these words will probably end up locked in a box, in the closet, only to be forgotten

I'm not sure where to begin.

For 15 straight years, I have unconditionally given myself to you.  Actually, that isn't the truth.  The truth is that even though you haven't been my top priority, I have given you the best of me.  I have sacrificed more in life than I care to admit, just to spend every possible minute with you.  In fact, I have not attended family holiday's, skipped friends weddings and taken more than a few days off of work. Maybe I was wrong to scoff at those who had such strong opinions about our relationship but, only a few saw the happiness that we shared along our tumultuous path.  I did all of those things in effort to foster a deeper relationship between us.  What did you give in return?  You chose to stand silent and offer nothing in return!  Didn't you see how much effort I put into our relationship?

Without you, I feel empty.  At times, I feel like I wonder aimlessly in this world.  The days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer.  Before long, life will become one long night.  Maybe that will be a good thing!  During the night, it's not so bad. The mornings are the toughest!  Every sunrise brings back a flood of memories that should be comforting but, they aren't.  While the memories are divine, they are cloaked in black, knowing that you're gone.  Did I not tell you how much you mean to me? For the life of me, I can't understand what made you leave.  Of course, I couldn't understand why you left the 14 times prior to this one either.  Selfishly, I think that knowing the reasons might make me feel better about the ending this continuous saga.  I just don't understand........I am begging you, please help me understand! Do you not love me enough to at least give me an explanation?  Until then, I guess that I'm stuck with neglected memories.

I don't have to try very hard to remember every time we met.  It didn't matter if it was an early morning or just before dark, you always looked the same.  I can still picture the warmth your skin brought to an otherwise insensate dark sky.  If you aren't deserving of a fine canvas, no one is!  I can feel your warm breath on my neck as you whispered secrets in my ear every September.  At years end, your breath always seemed colder and signaled the pending end to us.  Year after year, I could never understand why you weren't honest when the end was near.  Why didn't you ever tell me that you were unhappy?  When I close my eyes, I can still smell you in the wind. Once, I even thought that I tasted your tears in the rain, only to realize those tears were mine.  The more I sit here an write, the more difficult all of this becomes.  I want the hurt to go away!  More times than not, your silence comforted me like an old blanket.  Maybe your silence was a clue to your unhappiness and I just failed to see it?  When this relationship started, I never said that I could be perfect!  I only promised you that I would try to be the best that I could.  On the other side, maybe you took comfort in silence or maybe you took simple pleasure in my happiness with my friends?  I do know that you were the first to let me be me......all day, every day.  For that, I am forever indebted to you. I guess that it really doesn't matter anymore.  You got exactly what you wanted!  It always has been and will be about you!  That's great, but then there is just me! 
 

How does it feel to harden the edges that hide this tender heart?  Did you finally get what you wanted?  I HOPE SO!!!  I am left here.........a shell of a man.  I don't know where to go!  I am broken, torn and tired!  While I don't regret a single moment we spent together, I don't have the time, energy or courage to do this anymore.  I shall grieve again this year, like so many before. Maybe one day, my heart will heal and I will love another.  I hope not!  I don't want to let go because, secretly I know that come September, we will be together again.


Duck hunting, please know........It Begins And Ends With You.



Always Yours,


Stephen 

"Duck Hunters Are A Strange Breed"

Occasionally, when I find myself in a pensive sort of mood, I’ll sit around thinking about duck hunting and what there is about it that can make a person crazy. Just what is the psychological nature of a sport that annually causes otherwise sane, normal human beings to go so completely berserk?

Consider the cost, for example. With the possible exception of nightly bar-hopping 365 days a year, waterfowling has to be among the least cost-efficient activities going.

I have an acquaintance up north who owns a chain of discount hardware stores. The man is a nice enough fellow and normally a pleasure to be around. Except during duck season.

During that time of year he virtually lives and breathes ducks and can bore on to tears with his incessant lecturing on bag limits, quotas, calling and foolproof methods for identifying waterfowl in flight.

This same man is a strict fiscal conservative most of the year: He is, other than my spouse, perhaps the tightest tightwad I have ever encountered.

Yet, here is someone who thinks nothing of spending thousands of dollars on duck boats or buying decoys in lots of two hundred at $50 per dozen. Not to mention the small mint he doles out for shooting clothing, shotgun shells, dog food and other assorted waterfowler’s paraphernalia. As near as I can figure, each duck he shoots over the course of a season come to approximately $214.93 per pound.

Other than capital outlay, another prime factor in the absolute absurdity of duck hunting is the horrid weather conditions one must endure to participate. The majority of waterfowlers are quite familiar with what is or isn’t “duck weather” but, in case you are not, just close your eyes and imagine any weather conditions which would justify canceling any other North American outdoor sporting event. That’s a perfect duck day.

Someone long ago forgot to tell this continent’s waterfowl that creatures blessed with good sense stay home when the wind chill factor is 40 below and the rain and sleet fall hard enough to cause a mildly serious brain concussion. Of course, there is some evidence that brain damage might be the reason for one being a duck hunter in the first place.

Clinical psychologists tell me that the average duck hunter harbors masochistic tendencies and derives perverse pleasure from the suffering he experiences. Deep down, he hopes every shot he fires misses so he can add to the fulfillment of these warped desires.

Well, I don’t think I’d venture to go that far, but I agree that duck hunters are indeed a strange breed. They spend too much time, money and effort in an attempt to shoot a limit of birds. They regularly risk frostbite, pneumonia, hypothermia, and drowning and then have the audacity to call it fun. How weird can you get?

Well, I’ll tell you.

Years ago, before age and joint pain seriously limited my waterfowl adventures, a buddy called and invited me along on a big-reservoir duck shoot. The weather forecast called for freezing rain, low pressure and intermittent wind gusts up to 40 miles per hour.

You wan weird? I went. Though I’d die if I didn’t.

Yep, strange folks indeed. I know. I used to be one of ‘em.


Bob Kornegay



Reprinted from The Albany Herald 2005