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Monday, March 31, 2014

The Art of Letting Go


"But she did look back, 
and I love her for that
because it was so human."
~Slaughterhouse Five

I guess I knew this day was coming. I have prayed about it. I have attempted to mentally stabilize myself for it's blow. But, I failed.

Miserably. 

Yes. I made choices. Terrible choices. I broke promises. I broke hearts. I broke a home. And I know that I forfeited "our" life a long time ago when I made those choices. I know that house is no longer my house. I know that kitchen is no longer my kitchen. I know that I don't come home from a long day and sit in those chairs, or go to sleep in your bed. I know.

I know.

But, in my heart that is still "our" home. Our first home. The home we searched and prayed for. The home where you proposed to me. The home where you carried me across the doorway in my wedding dress. The home where I paced the hallways for countless hours with our first baby. Our Emma. The home where we laughed, cried, and fought. The home I nursed fevers, and burned cookies. The home I spent too many hours cleaning.

Our home.

And as hard as you try, you can't forget that there was at one time an "us". Me and you. Two crazy, stupid kids trying to take on the whole wide world.

My mistakes don't erase that fact. They can't and they won't. As much as you wish that they did...they just don't. That place-that house was a huge part of me for a very long time. You can't make that go away.

And so that's why it killed me to see her there. Cooking in what used to be my kitchen. No warning. No heads up. Just a pretty girl making herself at home in what used to be my home, and you pretending like it didn't matter-like I didn't have the right to be upset.

Hateful words were exchanged. Salt rubbed in almost healed wounds.

And me left here strangely broken hearted and trying desperately to catch my breath.

Yes, I know I made these choices.

Terrible choices.

Choices that haunt me every. single. day.

But, just because I made those choices doesn't mean that I'm not allowed to hurt from them. It doesn't mean that I don't-at times-carry regret like a weight around my neck.

I know you are moving on. I know in the deepest, unspoken places in my heart that she makes you happy. I know without a shadow of a doubt that she is a good girl. I know all of these things.

But, that doesn't make it any easier. It doesn't mean that I am all of a sudden an expert at the art of letting go.

God, I wish that I was. 

There are just some memories I wish I could forget. Memories that would make all of this letting go and moving on business that much easier.

Unfortunately, I can't and I won't, and at some point I am going to have to learn to how to do that with all those memories still intact.

But, today I hurt. I ache for terrible choices and wounds that just can't seem to heal. And for that, I am sorry. I am sorry that I don't know how to not be broken hearted about it. I am sorry that I am not all the way healed. I am sorry that my choices aren't a good enough reason for me to move forward. I am sorry that I am just not ready for someone else to come in and steal all of your memories of me away. And I am sorry that all of this makes you SO angry.

Yes. I am perfectly aware that you don't care.

You've said it one thousand times.

I know. 

But, this is the truth and I decided a long time ago to start telling it more often.

I don't know when or how we will actually start to get the hang of all this-this whole moving on thing. But I know that someday, hopefully very soon, we will. I know that eventually it will all click, and this mess we've placed ourselves in will somehow in some way sort itself out. I know that in no time at all we will find our bearings, and we will successfully parent our daughter into adulthood together.

But, for now, it is a struggle. A never ending battle of give and take as we dance on a very fine line of caring, but not too much. It's exhausting.

I want you to know that I keep on fighting for our someday. I keep picking myself up and dusting myself off and starting over from square one AGAIN. I keep biting my tongue, and holding my breath. I keep trying to figure this out and reminding my heart to just be quiet.

Just to please be quiet.

Because eventually the hurt will heal, and the wound will close completely. I will finally feel better, and I won't constantly be trying to catch my breath and reminding myself that I am not "allowed" to feel this way.

That day is coming.

It's just not today.

And I'm sorry.

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