It's been a little over a week since the break up. I'm not dead yet. But...
This whole healing thing is quite the process. I haven't had such a hard time reckoning the man I thought Dr. Yummy was versus the man who kind of tucked tail and ran since my ex-husband. Not that Dr. Yummy had done ANYTHING like Brad , just didn't see it coming is all. At all.
I'm glad I'm practically an expert on the Kubler-Ross stages of grief and can identify where I'm at in the process, and keep as calm and rational as possible--but it's kind of like knowing that getting a shot is going to hurt... the knowing doesn't make it hurt any less.
Out of habit, Dr. Yummy is still the thing that comes to my mind first thing when I wake up. Used to make me smile, now kind of feels like a good morning punch in the gut.
He used to be at the top of my text list--ready to share words of encouragement or tidbits of funny things going on in my day with. Now he's moved to about eighth. I have to scroll down the screen to see him. The last thing he texted me was the word "sure."
J had a very unique way of saying Dr. Yummy's name in a way that only an adorable 5 year old with a lisp can produce. He hasn't said it in several days. I miss the sound of it.
I'm taking on as much freelance writing work as I can, but that's meaning more late hours in front of my computer again. That old familiar, palatable silence that closes in on me like a choking fog is starting to be my companion again. I'm back to talking in a British accent to a picture of Jaime Oliver hung on my bulletin board. I think that's more sane than talking to nothing.
The other night, while I was at a poetry reading, the poet said something I found hilarious--but which was supposed to be very serious. I knew it wouldn't be appropriate to laugh out loud, so I went to stifle my sudden laughter in Dr. Yummy's shoulder...only to realize that it wasn't him sitting next to me but one of the poetry professors who probably wouldn't have been cool with my face in his shoulder. Suddenly, I didn't feel like laughing anymore.
Most of my close single friends got married over these last seven months. I've had to kind of push out of my comfort zone to try and make new single friends. And they really are so, so nice--all of them, and funny and great to be around. I'm lucky to have them and will be there for them whenever they need me. After 3 1/2 years of this though, I just grow weary of the singles scene, especially when reminded how awesome it is to have one best friend and confidant like Dr. Yummy was.
One of the Christmas presents I ordered him arrived. It's sitting in my closet, unopened. Nonrefundable.
My hand misses his.
My feet are cold without his leg to tuck them under.
My smile is heavy.
I am lonely.
I actually did go to see him again. This last Saturday. I was going from a reading on my way to meet up with some friends, using my GPS to navigate. It ended up taking me right by Dr. Yummy's house. It felt weird to not stop when I was so rarely on that side of town. So I did. And we talked for a little while.
He did his psychiatrist thing where he asked me how I was and what I was thinking and listened with his chin on his hand, nodding appropriately. I answered as honestly as I could, knowing the real answer probably wouldn't change anything. That answer being: Actually, I'm miserable and I don't understand why you won't let my boys and I love you the way we want to and the way you deserve to be and why are you such a chicken and how come you don't trust us to keep a really perfect relationship perfect and how can you just run away from something this good and and are you ever going to change your mind and come back? But I guess there's no fixing the guy who fixes everyone else. Also, I have accepted that no one comes back for me.
So, we shared a brief hug before I left. I think he smelled my hair. He watched me drive away. He didn't try to stop me. Then he went back in to race cars on the XBox, and I went to have dinner with my big group of single friends where I was hit on by another guy eating at the same restaurant--a 25 year old bass player in a revenge death metal band with a faux hawk and stretched lobes. And I couldn't help but think: Jennifer, this is your life now. Again. Swallow it down. And don't look back.
Lest you think I'm without hope though, wait for what comes in my next post. God either has some plan up his sleeve, or a perfectly strange sense of humor. Maybe both.
2 comments:
You're a rock. You're amazing. You should remember every day to be proud of yourself.
When my mom was sick, and the reality that cancer was going to take her from us set in I remember a conversation she had with my uncle (her brother and closest friend in many ways). She was sitting on the phone with him (you know because the rotary phone was corded and you could only move so far - HA!) and he must have said "this isn't fair"
She responded matter of factly with - "Yeah, it's not fair, but neither is asking God to make it fair, it just is what it is. You're dealt a hand in life. Some days it's amazing and you want to go all in and some days it's crap and you want to fold. But you don't - you never fold. You sit at the table with your hand and you figure out how to make it work."
That was probably about 20 years ago- I haven't forgotten it and they are words that still make smile and inspire me.
That was kind of my winded way of saying - You are doing an amazing job. You're boys (whether you see it or not) notice it. Some day 20 years from now when the chips are down for them, because it is simply fact that it will happen for them as it does for us all, they will draw strength from the courage and hope that you, Jennifer, YOU gave them.
So, you are right - don't look back. Keep fighting and most of all keep living your life as you have been, because, as my mom said, one day your amazing game winning, life changing hand will come in.
PS - Sorry that my many grammar errors are probably making you uncomfortable. Not all of us have published amazing writer on our resume. :)
Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry.
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