Who would ever suspect, how quickly we could disconnect.
Every now and then I write a lyric. Sometimes that lyric never finds its home in a song; it’s just a lonely lyric. If you’re a songwriter, please feel free to steal it. Right now it’s not really sitting happily in my heart.
So yeah, we broke up. Exactly two weeks ago. After almost two and a half years of LOVE (which seems somewhat monumental to me for some reason) we decided it wasn’t working (mostly because it wasn’t). And since that time we’ve had only one brief email exchange. He wished me happy birthday. I said thanks.
Okay, it wasn’t that cold. Actually his was very sweet and mine was very sad. My point is that’s been it – that’s been our only communication in two weeks.
How does that happen? How do you instantly go from having someone in your life every single day to nothing, nada, zippo, complete silence? Even when my ex-husband and I split up we talked every day. Heck, we saw each other every day and usually wept a few gallons of tears over wine and beer. So how exactly do you go from an undramatic, dare I say loving farewell to all this silence?
I dunno. I’ve never exactly been the silent type so it sure as hell beats me.
The funny (not really) thing here is that I’ve been okay with this quiet. I reckoned it was a good thing. A good thing for valid reasons. A chance to let the dust settle and the reality sink in. The reality that it wasn’t working, most likely can never work and separate paths is the only answer.
Patience, thought I. I am a facilitator through and through and I am desperately trying to alter my modus operandi. No, really.
Last summer, after seven years of separation and 6.8 years of him loving someone else, my ex and I decided we should probably get a divorce. I agreed to look into it. And then I stopped. I stopped and thought No honey, you do it. I was responsible for our union’s demise; you take responsibility for its ultimate dissolution. And he did. It only took him six months but he finally got her done.
So now, think I in my current state of solitude, perhaps I need do nothing? Perhaps I can just ride this gentle wave of limbo until he decides to do something. I mean, it kind of works in my favour. We own our home together and as far as I know he’s still paying his half of the mortgage. He’s just not living here (he always kept a place in the city). So what’s not to like?
Limbo. Limbo is not to like. And my question tonight is – when does patience turn into limbo? When are you no longer being all Zen and you’re just spinning your wheels … in lazy- limbo land?
Again, I dunno. What I do know is that forward motion is only facilitated (there’s that damn word again) by backward closure. Sometimes ya just gotta tie up some loose ends in order to move-the-fuck-on.
Even my ex-hubby got this. We signed off on a separation agreement about 37 minutes after we split. My lawyer counseled This is crazy – you’re giving away the farm (and future hourly rates)! And I responded I don’t care. This sure as shootin’ ain’t about the money.
But it kinda was. Because as ex-hubs so poetically put it – she needs money and I need closure.
So I’m sort of thinking on this Good-yet-Lonely Friday evening that I probably need some closure too. I may not need to know where I’m going (no clue, thank you very much) but I probably need to know if my current home factors into the equation or if I’m moving again.
And then of course there is that other nagging doubt. You know, the one that suggests that maybe we’re not really done? Maybe all this silence is our way of working our way back to one another.
I’m not holding my breath but I will also state here and now the one solid truth that I live by. As a matter of fact, it is the only truth I live by: Never say never and never say forever.
So … what do I do? Do I make that first call? Or do I hang on till after this long week-end, hoping that he might decide there is stuff here he needs and just show up? Because that’s the other thing. This house is full of his stuff. Clothes. Shoes. Weights. Motorcycle helmets. Pool tables (just one). I can’t even look in the garage. Motorcycle, snowboard, kayak, tools, boy stuff. His boy stuff.
I’m at a loss. Mostly because I am tired of being the facilitator and much like with my ex-husband, I’m more than ready for the guy to take the wheel. Man-up, as we say (and holy cow, do guys ever hate that!).
And then there’s that ever-present “what if?”. What if a few more days/weeks/months will provide us with clarity and increased love and we somehow find our way back together? And WHAT IF me jumping the gun totally screws that up? Because as it turns out my impatience has been known to screw up a thing or two.
Stay tuned …