Rather frequently, I am still hit with an intense longing for C. — to be in his arms, to drink coffee next to him in bed, to see his face, hear his laugh, even just get a silly meme from him.
A tiny part of me still hopes a little bit with every text alert… The other, more rational 99.782 percent of my brain realizes that it isn’t him, and it probably won’t be for a very long time, if ever. (I asked Sara recently, “When is it OK for me to text him or call him again?” She replied, “Not until you have no need to communicate with him and no expectations about getting back together.” Guess it’ll be awhile.)
The pain has generally faded to a dull ache, although seeing his favorite drink as I glance at a menu or hearing the Go-Gos’ “Vacation” can still trigger a few tears — the latter, unfortunately, while I was listening to my ’80s Pandora station at the gym.
My friend Anna recently told me, “I wish you could see it’s not just about him.” (I think she was making a reference to that bottomless-hole-of-need thing I’ve got going on.) And in part, she’s right. Some of it, certainly, is loneliness. Some of it is also the yearning for him and not just someone. His sense of humor. His kindness. His thoughtfulness. His dedication to his kids. His intelligence and curiosity.
He had flaws, certainly, and I feel the night of our breakup involved more than my own simmering issues simply boiling over. However, on the whole, he was so very much of what I wanted, that the loss of our relationship has been far harder to bear than, say, “dude who dumped me by text after we’d met each other’s parents and kids.”
I am striving to see this not as a loss but as the catalyst for the work I needed to start on myself. It is, inevitably perhaps, both. The eggs have been cracked — now I just have to figure out how the hell to make an omelette.