Have you ever thought you were doing something nice but the person for whom you’re doing this thing for totally chews you out instead?

Assuming you have, how did you feel about that? Did it make you mad? Upset you? Hurt your feelings? That’s how I want to feel but feel like I’m not allowed to feel that way.

Let me set the stage. I’m still sick. I went to the doctor earlier in the week and have been taking my antibiotic religiously. Well, I mentioned to my mom (and anyone else that would listen) that my symptoms don’t seem to be decreasing and that I feel as sick as I did Monday. She points out that whatever it is that I have is probably viral and thus wont be helped by the antibiotic. Great.

But being sick hasn’t stopped me from really trying to fulfill my promise to Kelly to get everything taken care of as quickly as possible.

So when we were moving my stuff, we inadvertently grabbed an attachment that belongs to his workout equipment. And he called me to let me know that he wanted that back. No problem, I told him. And it wasn’t a problem. Jen said I can come by anytime. So I coordinate with Jen a time to come by early in the week but Texas weather has another idea in mind so we bump it back to Thursday.

So I drive to Lewisville. (for those of you unfamiliar with the DFW metroplex, Lewisville is far north of Dallas. It’s roughly 30 miles from where I am staying and takes just shy of an hour to get there.) Don’t get me wrong, it was great seeing Jen and I always enjoy her. But I’m still sick so nothing seems fun at the moment. So I drive back home.

So today, I’m still feeling crummy and am bouncing back and forth between the idea of heading out to the apartment to drop off Kelly’s thing and to clean up (I offered to clean up because the moving process left a mess). Finally I decide to suck it up and go over there.

It was a disaster area. I’d forgotten how bad it was and I felt badly that Kelly had been living in such a mess for nearly a week. So I drop the equipment thing by its partner and get to work. I cleaned hardcore for an hour and half to two hours. I was sweating and exhausted (and still sick, mind you) but the apartment looked good. I felt proud. And the entire time I’m saying to myself get it nice enough for Kelly to be able to enjoy it.

At that point, I’d managed to collect a trash bag worth of garbage and noticed that Kelly’s trash can was full so I figured if I was taking down my bag of trash, I could be nice and take the full one as well. So I did. Then I remembered my sweet Laney telling me she had sent my birthday present to the old address. I told her I’d pick it up when I went by to clean. And, though I was a little surprised that Kelly didn’t mention that a package had been delivered for me, it was there with some other mail that had come.

I sorted through the mail and threw away the junk mail, packed up my bags and left, feeling good. I should also probably note that I was also a little surprised that there was so much left for me to take. And I briefly felt badly that I wasn’t moving fast enough to meet my promise to Kelly. But I knew there was nothing I could do about it at that moment so I chose to breathe it out and go on.

Anyway, I get back to my mother’s house and mess around for a few hours. Basically finding ways to waste my time because I was tired and still sick enough to not want to do anything but alert enough to know that I was bored. So I started outlining this blog that I told Kelly that I would write a long time ago. It is a testimony to his strength during everything we went through (which I am still planning to post in the next few days). So I’m thinking all of these wonderful thoughts about Kelly most of the evening as I pull together the ideas for the piece I’m writing. And I realize that living with the consequences of my mistakes is harder than I ever imagined. And, though it’s not much, I find a smidgeon of solace that I’m at least making the split as easy as I can for Kelly. Again, not very much – like a drop in the ocean type of not very much.

And my phone starts ringing. It’s Kelly’s ringtone. I thought it was a text message but, no, he was calling. I felt my face light up – you know how when you’re talking to someone on the phone, you can generally tell if they’re smiling or not, well, I definitely was. So I answer the call.

“The mail that was in the middle of the desk was mine.”

He sounds frustrated. We proceed to have a lengthy discussion about how I don’t have his mail with me. It hasn’t left the apartment except in the chance that I might have thrown it out and then taken that trash out. He became progressively more frustrated with me and I became progressively more apologetic. He threw in a “Look, it was here when I left and now it’s not. You’re the only one who has been here.”

By this time the accusing tone, the implied intent, and obvious lack of trust have really hit me adding to the difficulty I’d been feeling earlier with having to live with my decisions. I start tearing up. I don’t know if he could tell. I blurted out, “Do you want me to drive over there and dig through the trash can?” He curtly said, “No, I don’t.” And then he hung up on me.

I’m crying by this point. I double check my car and leave him a message telling him I’ve done so. Then I send a text message saying that I was sincere in my offer to come over there to dig through the trash. But no response. So I sent another text saying that if I didn’t hear from him within a specific timeframe, I would get in my car and head over there. Time frame passes so I grab my socks and shoes and text saying I’ll be leaving after I put on my footwear. So I do. I go out to the car, start it up, and realize I don’t have my coat (which I’ll need when digging through the trash on the front porch of the house). So I go back in to grab my coat when I receive the text message from him “Go home.”

I ask if he’s found the mail. He replies that he has and that he is then going to bed. I sent a couple of more inquiry texts but he only replies with a firm “Goodnight.”

So that’s my story. I feel very frustrated that I went out of my way to make his abode nice. I busted my ass while I’m sick and all he does is call to complain and accuse. I know he doesn’t owe me a thank you and that’s not why I did it. But to call and complain without even mentioning anything else, it lets me know that he is determined to see only the bad in me. I’ve become a static character in his story, unable to do any good because of the enormous bad that I did.

Had everything not played out the way it did, I would be mad at him for this behavior. But because things did play out the way they did, I feel like I don’t have a right to be mad. It’s all my fault and he should be able to act however he needs to act at the expense of me.

I realize that this is probably part of his grieving process. And I respect the grieving process. But it is taking a lot out of me to do what I’m doing. And it is exhausting. And I don’t have the luxury of anger to give me fuel. I merely have shame and that doesn’t energize but rather sucks energy out of you.

Oddly, if you had asked me earlier in the night why I’m doing it, I’d have said because he’s a good man and deserves the best I can give him, even if it is late. And now I’m having to remind myself of that as the question goes through my mind over and over – why are you doing this?