Boothbay Bob

Once upon a time when I was a young girl, certain that I was worldly and filled with vast experience, I met an angel. He came to me at a time when I needed him the most, although at the time I thought he was just another mere mortal, crossing paths with me out of coincidence and not necessity.  I’ve talked about my years of religious confusion in previous posts, so it didn’t come naturally for me to admit that I might have, indeed, shared part of the universe with an angel, even for just a short period of time.

In my early twenties, right out of college, I was taking the world by storm.  I landed a well-paying sales and marketing job that allowed me to travel frequently, to spend money like it was in endless supply, and to feel all grown up and in control of the world.  I was also engaged to my college sweetheart.  It was the natural thing to do.  You attend college, fall in love, begin a career, and go on to marry the person with whom you have spent several years.  It was what I always dreamt for myself and my dreams – in my limited scope of experiences – had all come true.

Life was going right along as planned until one evening, while I hosted an engagement party for two friends. I had been away from home, off and on, for eight straight weeks.  Business had taken me away.  My betrothed, who I hadn’t seen for weeks, arrived at the party, pulled me aside and then abruptly called off our engagement.  Talk about irony – I’m hosting an engagement party, during which I was dumped.  Not only were my nuptials cancelled that evening (the same day the invitations arrived on my doorstep), the next morning I was headed to Maine for two weeks of additional business travel.  My life was unraveling around me, I was in a state of shock, and I was falling apart. 

I vaguely remember my former fiancé calling my then roommate to tell her that he was about to break my heart.  He was kind enough to be sure I had a support system to fall back upon in the wee hours of the morning.  I also called my parents (who at one time had offered to pay off all my student loans if I wouldn’t marry the fella) and they rushed to my side.  I think my dad was in his pajamas.  I sat in my apartment’s dining room, grabbing on to the sides of the wooden chair, and rocked back and forth with tears streaming down my face.  My parents couldn’t hide their jubilation.  No, they didn’t want their daughter to suffer, but they also didn’t want her to make the worst decision of her life either.  I willed myself to pack my bags for my trip, left the messy apartment for my roommate to clean, slept a few hours and then hopped on a plane to Maine.   My parents met me at the airport that morning, warned my boss and other colleagues with whom I was traveling of what happened, and off I went.

I spent the whole flight making a list of everything that needed canceled or returned, calls that needed to be made, and people who needed to be alerted. Thousands of dollars had already be spent and I’d find out later that most was non-refundable.  The embarrassment factor arrived before we were over Cleveland. I was mortified. Traumatized.  Certain that life would never be the same. Embarrassed to return home. What would everyone think?

At the time I worked with and traveled with all men.  The group was so supportive, all acting like the big brothers I never had.  My boss and the others were only along for the first week of the trip and they graciously helped me to wrap up all of my appointments and meetings within the first five days.  This left me with a week all to myself.  I had never traveled completely alone, without a purpose or a plan. I saw them all off at the Portland airport and hopped in my rental car.  I found my way to Boothbay Harbor and to a cottage-style hotel right on the water. It was mid-August, the perfect tourist season.  My first day alone was a Friday.  I hopped on the nearest barstool – certain it was five ‘o clock somewhere, spent a serious amount of time with my buddy Jose Cuervo, and then let some complete stranger talk me into bungee jumping off of a crane above the water.

I called my parents, trying to spread the trauma and drama around, told them that I had listed them as my next of kin on the liability release form (since I didn’t have a husband to list), and “Weeeee….,” off the crane I jumped. It’s amazing what a little liquid courage will do for you.  My parents promptly hopped into their car, drove some eleven hours, certain I was suicidal.  They spent Saturday with me, assured themselves that I would indeed survive, and returned home. 

I spent Sunday through Thursday alone in my little hideaway from the real world.  Each morning, I’d take my coffee out with me to the water’s edge.  I sat in a comfy Adirondack chair and watched the birds play with the puffins.  It was a surreal experience.  I barely can remember all of the tiny details now so many years later. I’m grateful I captured so much of my trip with photos.  I don’t need a picture to remember one person though. 

That first morning, an older gentleman joined me on the Adirondacks.  I was still weepy and boo-hooing my way through my coffee and bagel.  He introduced himself as Bob.  We chatted a little.  He had lost his wife and the resort was a special place with special memories for him.  He returned that year to remember her and those special times.  We talked for quite awhile.  He shared stories about his perfect, decades-long marriage and all the while I churned inside knowing that my own “perfect” marriage stories were merely dust in the wind. He had lost his soul mate, yet I was the one with the overly swelled eyes, and a box of tissues permanently molded into my hand.  He scolded me for wasting the valuable opportunity I had been given – a week in Maine – by sitting in a chair crying about everything. 

I took his advice and began a week of adventure and soul searching.  I tried new things and I did it all without someone right by my side. I started to get to know myself. And, it seemed that everywhere I went, Bob was there.  I hopped on a boat for a whale watching trip.  Bob was nearby on the dock, waving hello.  I went shark fishing and lobster trolling and there was Bob at a table in a nearby restaurant when I returned.  Boothbay has the most quaint shops and stores.  Bob was walking along the opposite side of the street.  I wasn’t fearful of him; instead, he brought a sense of peace to me whenever he was around.

Each morning we began the day in our two Adirondacks.  I think it was Wednesday or Thursday of the week when Bob finally asked what had caused all my tears.  That’s all it took and the floodgates flew open.  I shared the whole wretched story with him.  We talked about my job and how much I hated it.  I told him that I was certain my frequent travels, sometimes for weeks at a time, had helped to dissolve my relationship.  I had been in contact with friends back home, one of whom told me my ex was involved in another serious relationship; and the plot thickened.  Not only had I been dumped, another woman had just spent a week with my former fiancé in the same hotel where I was to honeymoon with him in just a few, short months.  

I told Bob that I was uncertain of my future, not sure what I really wanted out of life and now I was being forced to pave a new path.  I told him that I hated it when my parents were right – and yes, they always were right.  And then Bob said something that I’ll never forget.  I can barely remember what the man looked like, the name of the hotel, or many descriptive factors about the area, but I remember this.  He asked me if I was crying because I had lost the love of my life or if I was crying because I was embarrassed that I had been left at the proverbial alter, replaced by another.  My answer came without thought.  I was embarrassed and now had been forced to admit that the marriage would have been a mistake.  In fact, calling off the plan was probably the best thing that my former fiancé could have done for me.  Bob helped me to see that and accept it.

The following morning we shared one more cup of coffee together, this time without any tears.  I was eager to return home, to reclaim my life and to enjoy the process of finding out who I really was.  Little did I know that it would take a good five or six years to truly begin understand myself, but I was excited for the challenge.  I told Bob that day of the impact he had upon my life.  I told him I wanted a marriage as good as the one that he had.  Funny, in retrospect, I never asked Bob how his wife passed or even what her name was.  I was apparently too wrapped up in my own world to see deep into his.  He never once complained.  We said goodbye and then he was gone.

Within months of returning home, I quit my job.  And I did so without anything else being lined up.  It was the second best decision to hit my life in a few months’ time.  I started on the journey that continues to evolve to today.   

I thought about Bob frequently. Two years had passed and I felt an urge, a deep seeded need to find Bob, to reach out to him, to thank him for all that he gave to me during my week in Boothbay.  I called the resort.  I told the woman that I knew she wouldn’t be able to give out Bob’s information to me, but I begged her to call him for me.  I wanted her to pass along my contact information so we could reconnect.  She told me that no one named “Bob” had stayed at the resort during the week I was there.  Not a Robert, a Bobby, or a Bob.  Not even a “Mister” without a last name.  He wasn’t there.  But he was there.

I recounted the story to my husband years later and he suggested that perhaps Bob was my own personal guardian angel on that trip.  Sure, there are likely other plausible alternatives.  Bob could have walked over to the resort’s property each morning from another hotel or bed and breakfast.  I was acting completely out of sorts and it’s possible I hallucinated my several days with Bob.  Maybe the old bugger reminisced about his long lost wife with his new sweetheart and the room was in her name.  I choose, instead, to think of Bob as my own angel.

I’ve published my Bucket List here and you’ll see that returning to Boothbay is among my top priorities.  Maybe I’ll bump into Bob – or at least the memory of him.  Sometimes when I boo-hoo over having M.S., I think of Bob.  I remember that question he asked some 17 or 18 years ago and find myself exploring why I’m really crying.  Bob continues to guide me, to console me, to comfort me today.