Wednesday Morning, 3 a.m.
Diary, I am exhausted, but after trying to quieten my brain and find rest for about two hours, here I am, attempting to sort through my jangled thoughts and put pen to paper. Where to start? Usually, I try and relay things chronologically to you, and I will get to that, but the past two days that were largely colored by unease and terror, also contained a beautiful gem of hope and gratitude, and that I have to express first.
I sat with Dale in the waiting room of Denver Mercy. Small talk was almost non-existent, and the clock on the wall seemed to move so slowly that it appeared frozen in place. It all became too much, and I mumbled an excuse needing to be alone. I thought of stepping outside, so see if I could find a green space near the hospital where I could collect myself a little, but then I worried that if I strayed too far, I might not be there if there was news of Joe … or a word from Oliver. Instead, I looked around the hospital for somewhere quiet. Chance took my steps to the chapel, a dark and restful looking space. I must admit, I felt a little like I had no right to be there, but after my earlier conversation with the big guy, I hoped we had begun a halting dialogue, and He might want to know how thankful I was.
I sat on the hard bench at the front of the chapel, and just … breathed. A Pilates class I took years ago tried to get me to breathe in the 'blue' and out the 'red'. Or something like that. I found myself breathing in calm, and out the paralyzing fear that had so gripped me. After a few minutes of that, I was left with peace and aching gratitude. I had decided that I had taken enough time, and that I needed to return to the waiting room to … wait.
Before I could move, Oliver was beside me. More disheveled than I had ever seen him, but undoubtedly the most glorious sight I had ever seen. Quietly, diffidently, he sat at my side. I thought my heart might explode from all that I was feeling. And then began a conversation full of truth and longing, humor, and tears. I think that I have always known that Oliver was not as self-assured as he tries to project. Tonight, I could more fully see how fragile his heart really is. I knew that he was wary of exposing himself to heartache, but I think I had underestimated just how much the actions of his mother and Holly had caused. Usually, when either of the ex-Mrs. O'Tooles are the topic of conversation, I find myself angry - ready to punch them in the nose. Tonight, I realized that they are not important. I stopped reacting to them and responded only to him. Oliver matters. They do not. So, I sat, listening to this proud but hurting man, who was attempting to let me in. Laughter, tears, and thanks gave way to hope and a sweetly old-fashioned but achingly beautiful kiss on my hand.
Alright, diary, I know I will continue with more of this in its proper place, but I feel I have let enough out that I can return to Monday morning and begin there.
I entered the DLO, ready to hear how Oliver coped with his brush with the great outdoors. Instead, it was empty. No Oliver, no Rita, and no Norman. I guess I was hoping against hope that they might make it back - but as the minutes ticked on, I remained alone. The DLO alone was eerie. The atmosphere grew heavier as the day wore on. By nine-thirty, I had checked with Hazel, asking if she knew of any departmental meeting scheduled. She did not. By ten o'clock I had tried to call Rita, but her phone was going straight to voice mail. By quarter past ten I had called Oliver's house, but the phone rang out. By ten-twenty I had left a message for Norman. By ten-thirty I had called Joe's cell phone, but it was going to voice mail as well. I suppose Rita and Norman were stiff in New Mexico, but where was everyone else?
At eleven o'clock I decided that I needed serious chocolate and even more serious caffeine. I grabbed my purse and coat and made my way to the Mailbox Grille. I suppose I must have been hoping that the three of them, Oliver, Norman, and Rita might have been there, discussing …. something. They were not. I took my coffee and double choc muffin to-go, and made my way back to the DLO, steps heavy and rising panic filling my throat. I stood silent and still outside the DLO doors, my ears strained to hear a sound from inside. There was none. I pushed open the door with my eyes closed, hoping against hope that upon opening my eyes, I would see Oliver sitting at his desk, magnifying glass in hand. I did not, and my crushing dread grew.
I did try and stay productive. I tried, but really failed. As the afternoon wore on, I became more and more fractious. I barely lasted until 4:30 p.m. before I escaped the Post Office and went in search of Oliver and Joe. I drove slowly passed Oliver's house (having flashbacks to the last time I played stalker), but it looked deserted. I did run up the stairs to knock on the door, but there was no answer. My next destination was Joe's. I had plenty of time on the way over there to move all the way from anxious to full-fledged panic.
The moment I saw Oliver's car in front of Joe's I felt a spark of hope. Perhaps they had arrived home later than expected, and were taking an extra day? That hope withered as I realized that the house was dark and eerily quiet. A little guilt-free breaking and entering, and I made my way inside Joseph O'Toole's house.
It did not take very long for me to realise that things were potentially dire. I found myself making a phone call I never thought I would. In my moment of need, I turned to Dale Travers. As I made the call, I remember hoping that I was being ridiculous. I was hoping that by the time Dale arrived, Oliver and Joe were returned. I hoped, but I think I knew that Oliver and Joe were both too responsible to simply not turn up. I made myself busy by alternately turning on lights and staring at the picture of Joe and baby Oliver.
Eventually, Dale and the officers arrived. I really did not want to have my opinion confirmed, but it was. It's funny. I thought I would dislike Dale. I mean, not only is she really important to Oliver, but also she is almost my complete opposite. She is religious, I am not. She is careful and measured, I jump feet first. She doesn't even take sugar in her coffee! I don't think I do dislike Dale. I think I grudgingly respect her. Regardless, she is competent.
I think that hysteria was never far from the surface Monday night. I remember thinking that I always thought that my actions might land me in the back of a police car. I just never thought that it would be on the way to El Dorado Canyon looking for Oliver and Joe. I didn't tell Dale why I giggled as I entered the car.
Upon arrival, we found Joe's truck standing forlornly in the parking lot. Everyone else seemed to have a job to do – I just had to wait. I didn't want to get in anyone else's way, and so I stood removed and filled with rising panic. My phone's shrill ringtone brought me back to my surroundings. It was Rita! Rita, who had found something to do with the letter, but Rita who I needed at my side. She must have realized how distraught I was because she promised to come to me. Once again, all I could do was wait.
Rita told me to pray. I know that it is just one of those things that you say, but once the idea entered my mind, I decided that it was something I needed to do. I took myself a little away from the law enforcement officers and park rangers (and Dale) and looked for a likely spot. In a little copse, I found it. I knelt and tried to begin. My thoughts churned. I worried that God would reject my first conversation with Him since I was ten. I felt an immense sense of imposter syndrome and was distracted by a million thoughts. I thought of how much did not want to admire Dale Travers but did. Of how practical and serious she was and how Oliver liked practicality. Dale had not come to the mountains in high heels for goodness sake! I worried that Oliver was cold, frightened, or hurt. I worried that the weather would worsen, and help would be further delayed. Then suddenly, in the midst of all of this turmoil, a sense of purpose and almost calm overtook me. I offered up a thank you for the people who were here to help - Dale and the other officers, and Rita and Norman who were on their way. Then I begged, over and over, that Oliver and Joe would be okay. I admitted to myself, and anyone else who might be listening that I could not face a world without Oliver in it. Exhausted, I made my way back to the others. Dale brought me coffee and a conversation about safety. She told me she was Olivers friend, but before I could ask for more clarity, Rita and Norman arrived.
Beautiful Rita, and brilliant Norman! Norman, who brought the most amazing providential gift – Sandy! Or letter led a search and rescue dog to our side when we most needed one! The canine embodiment of Oliver's Divine Delivery Theory.
The hours alternately passed in a blink and crawled by. Sunrise brought agony and hope. Then the most beautiful words ever uttered, 'We've found them!' I could do nothing but nod thanks to Dale and sob in Rita's arms. I honestly did not expect to admire and respect Dale as much as I did in that moment. To see Oliver emerge from the forest, and Joe carried to the waiting ambulance on a stretcher filled my heart. Oliver and Joe being alive was enough. In that moment, I realized that truly loving someone meant that their happiness means more than you own, and if Oliver was to be with me, I would thank God every day for his rescue and continued happiness. If he was meant to be with Dale, I would do exactly the same thing,
I was quiet as I sat in Rita's car on the way to the hospital. Sandy, sensing that I was exhausted and emotional laid her head on my lap. She didn't even mind if an occasional tear splashed on her soft coat.
Diary, I have explained a little of what happened next already. Let me fill in a few extra details. Oliver O'Toole, the man who is never short of a quote or some pithy saying or other, spoke haltingly about moving on, with me part of moving forward. When I took his dear face in my hand and told him I had felt a glimmer of faith stirring, he looked at me, really looked at me and I wondered if he was going to kiss me. I won't lie. I absolutely wanted him to, but the sweet kiss he gave my hand was every bit as beautiful. I didn't push him, but rather rested my tired head on his shoulder. He held my hand in his and rested his head on mine. I did not want to be anywhere else. This was perfect.
I think we both must have slept briefly, but I stirred when I felt Oliver move at my side. I sat up, and looked at him with what I am sure was a ridiculous grin on my face. He looked back a little shyly, but with a small smile that made my heart dance. By mutual unspoken agreement, we walked side by side down the corridor, our shoulders occasionally touching. We looked in on Joe, who seemed to be sleeping. I was sure that he was sleeping, until he opened his eyes and winked at me as I left his bedside. I don't think that Oliver saw it. Joe really is the best expeditor there is.
Oliver and I were both without a vehicle, and so we shared a cab home. Before I left the car, I had a promise from Oliver that he would be ready at 10 :00 a.m. for a very special shopping expedition. Sandy really did need spoiling! I wanted to extract a promise from Oliver that he would call me to let me know he was safely home, but I didn't want to push too much. In that moment I decided that I must be less Shane-like. I must be patient and have faith that even through he is somewhat (completely?) terrified, Oliver does want to move on with his life. Perhaps he can even see that I could be part of that? Therefore, I will wait. I will let him set his own pace. I will walk beside him, even though I want to run. I will adjust my steps to his. I will hope.
And now it is after 4:00 a.m. To sleep, perchance to dream … of a hope and a future?