There was a time when I believed that life was nothing more than a game of Monopoly with the added caveat of emotions. We roll the dice, move our pieces, see places, meet people, acquire some things while losing others, and wait for someone or somethings to remove us from the game. The only certainties being the beginning, and the end; though, it's in the details between these two definitive points where the game becomes interesting.
For all that life is and isn't there are these brief moments where all of life’s complexities seem to suspend themselves in midair and what really matters momentarily presents itself. It happened for me recently while speaking with a very significant someone.
She said, “how is everything going on your end?”
A common enough platitude that normally would have elicited a caustically sarcastic response, but instead was met with a smile, a short pause as I considered the person asking the question, and then I said, “ah, you know, it turns out that prison is still prison.”
And it could have been the wine she was drinking or my own exhaustion from having spent the previous ten hours cooking in a prison kitchen, but for some unexplainable reason we both started to laugh as though we had just watched Donald Trump depantsed on national television.
In retrospect there was nothing extraordinarily comical about neither her question or the answer that ensued. What was extraordinary, however, was just how hilarious it seemed to the both of us in that moment given the history of our relationship. And with that hilarity followed the realization that neither her, nor I, wanted to be anywhere else but in the moment we were sharing, because in that seemingly insignificant moment was all of our love.
Love is an idea that we're never really sure if what we're experiencing is in fact love or just some sensory overload of excited hormones and emotion. Some say it doesn't exist, that love is nothing more than a myth from fairy tales, or, at best, fleeting passions that incite bad decisions and regrets. There are also those who insist that not only is love real, it's a soul reason we are born into life. Then there are still those who attempt to displace the mysterious nature of love by making it ordinary: I love this, I love that, I love everyone and everything. All of which is typically not true, but more times than not we're just not looking to expend the foreseeable energy it would take to call bullshit. So instead we nod our heads, smile, check the time, and otherwise manifest ourselves out of the quagmires of hypocrisy where we happen to be standing.
The very significant, aforementioned someone was Anabel, a woman I met under very auspicious and bizarre circumstances, fell in love with, married, and otherwise reinvented my life so as to write her into the narrative of my foreseeable future. Eight years ago we met and in that first encounter spent three hours talking about our respective lives. Weeks later she gave me a ring with three words engraved on it—LIVE. LAUGH. LOVE—and said to me, “this is what I want,” as casually as someone who gives the time of day.
Anabel and myself
But in 2019, when the New Mexico state courts issued a decision on my appeal that blatantly violated both state and federal constitutions, the disappointment from that blow was more than Anabel could bear and she closed me out of her life with a Dear John letter that I still carry.
She wrote:
My dearest Mario.
I hope this letter finds you well and safe. You're probably wondering if I'm dead or alive. Well thankfully I'm still alive and doing OK… My reason for this letter is to inform you that I will be filing for divorce when I can. I'm so sorry I couldn't stay by your side through all this. Please don't hate me or be mad at me. I honestly think it's the best for both of us. I still think about you but mostly I still love you like before, but I can't live like this anymore… (signed Love Always, your wife)
Yes, my wife withdrew from my life as though the denial of my appeal was my execution and her final visit my funeral. And heartbroken doesn't begin to describe how I felt when suddenly my calls and letters went unanswered.
To anyone who has done a substantial amount of time in prison, heartbreak is a normal part of the show. People, family, friends, just about everyone, to some lesser or greater extent, eventually start to forget about those on the “inside.” For those who suffer from addictions, those bonds and ties to the world typically fray away much faster than those who aren't burning their bridges for cash so they can get their fixes. But one way or another time is a tide that washes it all away, and what we're left with are just the memories of those who we once called friends and family.
As I read Anabel's letter I wasn't at all surprised. Months of silence had already been traversed and according to social media she was involved in a new relationship with someone who could actually be a physical participant in her life. We had both risked and sacrificed with an enormous leap of faith that justice would prevail and the courts would overturn my wrongful conviction. We had plotted out the course of our future together, placed our chips on the casino–Monopoly table of life, and watched as the dice did the deed.
And, ironically, when the deed was done and the future we had so carefully crafted with faith and love was there before us on the floor, shattered into so many pieces that it was practically dust, the most prevalent emotion I felt was anger.
Yes, I was angry with the corrupt and hypocritical judicial system and all the players that had had a hand in my predicament. But even more, I was angry with myself for the arrogance of having trusted in something as ephemeral as love and faith and thereby having permitted myself to love and be loved by Anabel. After all, I of all people should have known better.
They say that life has two certainties, death and taxes, but there is another just as certain: that there will always be those happy to see our hopes and dreams come crashing down on us like a tsunami wave. And usually, they are those who most convincingly feign empathy and disappointment for our losses.
And even now, there is no shortage of people who tell me, including my own ego, that, “she doesn't deserve you. If she wasn't willing to be with you when you were bust, then she shouldn't get to be with you when you’re flush.”
I understand the logic of what everyone is telling me, but mostly I don't believe that matters of the heart have anything whatsoever to do with reasoned decisions or logic. Either I love her or I don't, the answer to which is not predicted on whether or not she loves me. In many ways my life is a battlefield attempted of repeated attempts at understanding the human emotion we all call love. Is it choice or kismet? Is it something we pursue like a career or diabetes, or wait for with hopeful anticipation like a first kiss? And when we finally feel that we have it, do we attempt to chain it to ourselves with empty promises or vows or enjoy it like a blissful sunset that passes?
Some say that love is something to work at and sacrifice for, but it was never that when we fell in love in the beginning. And the effort now seems like a chore or duty that must be carried out like the trash—therapy, discussions, compromises—with no clear sight or understanding as to where it all ends, other than till death do us apart, about as counterintuitive to love as deception or empty promises.
I have quite literally pondered these questions for years only to arrive at mere suggestions that only hint to answers in their truest form: don't promise love eternal because that is not within our power to fulfill; instead promise sincerity of heart.
The challenge, however, is that few are willing to anchor themselves to anything less than “forever” even knowing that vows are nothing more than empty words until actual actions make them into something more. They will eagerly point to some couple and marriage that has endured a lifetime and say, “see, eternal love is possible, they are still together.”
They don't account for the fact that the vast majority of marriages that do survive the test of time and the storms of life have more to do with the friendships and the bond forged from the battles fought than anything that even resembles fairytale love. And, of course, there is certainly beauty in seeing two people who have learned to coexist in relative harmony to stick it out until the bells toll.
There are undoubtedly going to exist infidelities of thoughts, actions, or both in every marriage. There are minor deceptions, outright lies, and maybe even crimes hidden in secret cubbies and drawers that will never see the light of day. Everyone at some point along the trajectory of a marriage has felt unappreciated, fed up, and willing to reinvent the remainder of their lives without their spouses, hence, the prevalence of divorce.
Divorce, or its definitive equivalent in any relationship, is a difficult drink to swallow. It's essentially someone telling us that the totality of all that we are and, can offer them, is not enough. And as someone who has been on both sides of that declaration, I understand both the difficulty with which it is spoken and the devastation felt when heard; and depending on how persuadable we are to the whims of ego and pride will determine in large part our reactions.
I would certainly be remiss if I didn't admit to having indulged certain ego-driven fantasies of casual encounters where Anabel sees me happily in love with someone not so easily deterred by disappointments and setbacks. But the imaginary sense of redemption from those fleeting fantasies always turns to sorrow. Because I quickly realize that I have been a more than sufficient cause of sorrow and sadness in Anabel's life, and therefore have no legitimate cause to intentionally give her more.
For months following her Dear John letter I anticipated being served with divorce papers. They never came and I never called or wrote to inquire as to their delay. Instead, I focussed on studying the law, writing on any and every topic far away from her, and, of course, a better and more thorough knowledge and understanding of self.
Anabel eventually reached out to me. She admitted that she had pursued relationships in search of companionship and love, but had only discovered more disappointment. I listened without comment or judgement. She admitted that she was still in love with me, and said, “nobody can even get close to comparing to how you loved me.”
Anabel
Surprisingly, I wasn't happy to hear her definitive declaration. I had always known that she would one day say those words, and yet, when I finally heard them there was no satisfaction to be had, just more sadness.
Sadness because I was still where I was and she was seemingly no closer to finding her bliss in a loving, committed relationship. I couldn't help but think that had we never seen or spoken to one another that her expectations and standards for love would never have been so high and she would have just settled for the mundane mediocrity of so many failed and fatigued relationships. But, the truth is, our first encounter was as inevitable as the sun on the horizon (but that's another story for another time).
My brother Virgilio once told me when I was dealing with the initial blow of her departure, that I should consider that perhaps she never actually loved me and God was using disappointment and heartbreak to extricate her from my life.
He proceeded to point out that almost any other spouse of a wrongfully convicted, innocent man would make it her purpose in life to scream from the rooftops of social media that her husband was wrongfully in prison for a crime he didn't commit.
“If you are the man she so desperately loves,” Virgilio said, “then why has she silently accepted every denial and disappointment from the courts? Why hasn't she made it a point of convincing Jorge Ramos into making a show about your case? Because I know that if it were you out there and her in here, you would not be silent on the matter. Which is why you should consider that she only loves the idea of you, but not you.”
I knew that his intentions were in the right place, and I couldn't contradict what he was saying: she did walk out when things became difficult. Maybe my brother was right. Maybe she allowed herself to be swept off her feet, convinced herself of a brighter and better future with me and decided to take a leap of faith. But then, when the disappointments began to accumulate her own fears began to gain ground and before she even realized what was happening she was drowning and decided that her choice was to save herself or perish.
Next month marks six years of marriage that Anabel and I have yet to live. We don't speak regularly, but when we do our conversations are kind, heartfelt, and genuine. We avoid talking about what the future might have in store for us. We mutually admit that we have never stopped loving one another, but are also not fooled by any romantic interpretations of what that might mean.
Recently, she asked me to make her a promise. I told her that if it was within my power that I most certainly would. “Promise me that when you finally get your justice and get out of there, and after you've gone to Mexico to reclaim what is rightfully yours and you've done what you set out to do, promise me that you'll send for me. Because it won't matter who I'm with or what I'm doing, I want to be with you wherever it is that you are.” She paused, seemingly unsure of herself, then added, “unless you're unable to forgive me for what I've done, and if that's the case then I'll understand.”
A much younger version of myself would have made that promise in a state of romantic fury and confused passions, and then spent many a sleepless night regretting having done so. But I'm no longer that younger version of myself, and instead, I said, “without a doubt there will be people begging for my forgiveness when I am no longer confined by these walls, but there are two people on this earth who will never need my forgiveness for anything and you are one of them. So rest easy on that latter part.
“As for the promise you asked of me,” I said, “it's impossible to know what any number of tomorrow's hold in store for either of us. That is a question we will both have to answer when the time comes, but I will say this, it's a question that I'm eager to have answered.”
I could sense that I wasn't giving her the answer she wanted. It would have been an easy enough promise to make, but life has taught me to fervently oppose any kind of vow or promise that would only serve to corrupt what we share.
Too many times I've confessed and confused passion for love, only to later be cornered into professing more lies of the same genre to no avail. I've been bullied into marriage, tricked into false semblances of love, and deceived into too many doomed relationships to even consider a
halfhearted whisper or profession of eternal love when I know that such attainments can't be predicted any better than the weather.
It may very well be that our love is as mutual as it is true, and that what await us is a long and happy life together. If that is what is destined then there is no need for anxious pleas and fretful hopes from either party. If, on the other hand, that is not what life has in store for us, then, at the very least, I will forever remember the brief sunset of the love I experienced named Anabel and with gratitude in my heart be able to say that I have witnessed all of life’s complexities discounted to nothing in comparison to the beauty of the sunset that is love, and, most importantly say that I have lived, I have laughed, and I have most certainly loved.