Oh, the Irony!

Timing is an ironic thing, isn't it? It's something I've discovered––and rediscovered––with increasing regularity over the past months:

My late husband's wedding band sold on eBay two days before the one-year anniversary of his suicide. I observed the day by putting the ring in a box and sending it off to its new owner with wishes of a happier future than the past it held.

I've been seriously considering asking my agent to dissolve our professional contract so that I could pursue other avenues with my manuscripts––whether that meant seeking out a new agent, submitting to a small press publisher, or simply trying to self publish was undecided. But I felt at odds and was holding off on making a decision, based mostly on the fact that I like her as a person. Screwy logic, perhaps, in the grand scheme of things; but still. I felt a bit tied-up. And with each Twitter follower and fellow writer that has come my way over the past months, I have entertained more and more seriously the need to break ties. After all, if these writers would find success, maybe I could, too. But still, I dallied. And then, yesterday, the decision was made for me. So now it's up to me again to find a home for my babies, and hopefully an audience for my stories. Rather than scared, I feel oddly free. And possibility seems to be whispering in my ear.

Hopefully, I'm not being delusional.

Unfortunately, with the ironies of the ups comes the ironies of the downs.

Two days ago, I was reading an article in O the Oprah Magazine about not making the mistake of letting "the one that got away" get away again. Of being brave and holding tight. It spoke to me, and I wondered if, indeed, this article in January's issue was a directive meant especially for me, as I have a confession to make: I am an inveterate torch carrier. I have loved the same person for nearly two decades––first, as he made his awkward way through the years of boyhood playing with Matchbox cars; then as he grew into adolescence; and finally, as a man. Timing has often been a factor––he's been in many relationships over the years, and so I never felt as though I could make any move. And I, being so reluctant to make the first move with any man––I am an old-fashioned sort and want to be the one pursued, thank you––was always afraid to. But looming larger than anything was my fear of rejection. What if he said no? What if he crushed the dream? 

So I kept silent, carrying my torch and wondering if the love story I imagined would ever play out. When I met my late husband and the wedding plans unfolded, I thought that was the end of things. After all, I was taken; and he was in a relationship. The end. The wedding invitations went out, and I mailed one to his parents, knowing that if by some strange twist of fate, they brought him along, I would have struggled through the ceremony. So I said my vows and hugged his father at the reception, on a euphoric high in my pouffy white dress that seemed to provide the safety shroud of being in a full-body costume. And then I did something a bit wreckless––I told the man I had always wanted for a father-in-law exactly that: that this day was one I had always envisioned with a different outcome, with his son waiting for me at the end of the altar. It was a confession wrapped in humor. But I meant every word. 

Months later, I was widowed, unexpectedly liberated from an abusive marriage that should have never taken place. And the one that got away had broken up with his girlfriend. 

Too good to be true? Still, I dithered, waiting and wondering whether we would have a second chance at what I had always dreamed of. More months passed, and still I waited, torch in hand.

And then I read the article. Was this my Aha! Moment?
I sit now at my keyboard, heavy with the newly imparted information (gotta love Facebook) that he's been promoted to another position within his company and will be moving to another state, about five hours away.   
To quote Alanis Morsette, "Isn't it ironic?"

So is this my answer? A no as he prepared to leave? Or a push to move before he goes?
I eye my good friend irony and wonder how next it will strike.