...And Never Let HerGo

Ireland while she was in Europe. She had always hoped to return for a visit to the family she had lived with in Spain, but that was financially impossible, even with Nan’s bequest. She couldn’t dream of going to Spain, too.
    One night, when Jill went with her to look at an apartment, Anne Marie blurted, “I just have to tell you something. I got a card from Tom—and it had five hundred-dollar bills in it.”
    Jill looked at her. “Why—?”
    “The note said, ‘Use this to go to Spain.’ ”
    The two of them discussed whether Anne Marie should accept it. How could she explain how she had suddenly come up with that much money and just go off to Spain? What would Brian think? They agreed that $500 was probably nothing to Tom, but it was so much money to them—too much for Anne Marie to accept.
    As the summer approached, it would become clear that Anne Marie was seriously questioning her relationship with Tom. Her Catholic faith was very important to her, her family’s approval meant everything, and being with Tom went against those things. Still, she wasn’t confident to be just herself, alone. Her diary was full of entries about other men—men who were free to date her. Although she was twenty-seven, she sounded more like a teenager when she wrote about the men in her life. She had begun dating late and she needed approval more than most women. Mature in her career, Anne Marie was sixteen in her heart.
    On June 11, 1994, her brother Robert arranged a double date: he and his wife, Susan, along with Anne Marie and Mike Hines, a man Robert worked with. Anne Marie felt the blind date had worked out very well; in a little over a week, she wrote, “I think I’m falling for him real fast! I see myself marrying him.”
    Of course, it was much too soon. And the P.S. revealed moreabout how frightened she really was of not being good enough, of being alone, of being unloved: “P.S. My weight is 129. I have a serious problem, but right now I am not able to confront it.”
    A week later, Anne Marie wrote of a wonderful evening with Mike at the beach, a Saturday night with a romantic stroll home. But—
    He said he would talk to me tomorrow, and I never heard from him. . . . He never called me Sunday nor Monday. So of course I now think he’s blowing me off, and does not want to see me anymore. God, it is great to be young and insecure. I hope that’s not the case, but if it is, I better learn to deal with it quick. Actually, I am good at dealing with rejection, much better than dealing with compliments.
    Almost every woman who ever went on a date knew that feeling. Men rarely called when they said they would, and they
always
said they would. But Anne Marie’s fear went deeper. She leapt to embrace rejection before it could sneak up and catch her unaware.
    Mike Hines eventually called her and they went out again, but she questioned every comment, every phone call that didn’t come or came too late. She was sure he wanted to dump her but was afraid to because he worked with her brother. She set arbitrary time limits; if he didn’t call by Wednesday, that meant he was dumping her. Or by Friday. When he didn’t accept her invitation to a Fourth of July celebration, that meant “I am not pretty, smart, fun, exciting, enough.”
    But she
was.
Only, she didn’t believe it. When Anne Marie forced a premature confrontation on what Mike’s feelings and intentions were after only a month of fairly casual dating, he was polite and sincere, and probably spooked. She did not mention another date with him in her diary.
    O N July 20, 1994, Anne Marie and Brian arrived in Ireland. It was to be a respite from a frenetic eight months in which she had judged herself so very harshly. With the brother who loved her so dearly, folded into the country of her origins, Anne Marie blossomed. From Shannon to Limerick to Dublin to Ballinor to Cape Clear, her diary entries were full of joy and excitement about the trip, full of her tremendous appreciation for life.
    As I sit on this rock elevated at a few hundred feet, below a sky blue ocean, I do not know that I have ever been to a more beautifulplace (or ever will for that matter). As I look out all I can see is water, cliffs, and, last but not least, green pasture. There are a few homes scattered around the island. . . . I lay down for a bit, listening to the waves crash against the cliff with a fair hint of seagulls in the background. . . . I have never seen so many different