Shattered Hearts
Sometimes My Blog Should Be Called “Are You F’ing Kidding Me?”
B is moving back to his hometown way up north in upstate New York. He headed out of Florida today after dropping me and my demolished heart at the airport. He left me with hugs and kisses and “I’m sorry. I love you.”
I'm struggling to breathe. My chest hurts. My eyes are puffy. I can't eat.
It’s not the move that overcomes me - that’s just geography. I knew he wanted to move closer to his family - all in the North East. I knew he was struggling daily to stay grounded, to stay strong as he looked toward his future in all of life. After our little terrifying category four Hurricane Irma, I saw the pieces of his soul loosen and swirl.
I tried to be the family he needed. I clung to him in my own need for grounding, while at the same time trying to give him space I could see he needed. He was forced to move in and his things were still in garbage bags and suitcases. I had a plan for making the place fit us both - he didn't seem in a hurry to fit. B was lost. He wasn't himself and he was forcing himself to keep it together. The hurricane was a traumatic experience and everyone handles trauma differently. When he went to see his parents after my grandmother’s funeral in Kentucky, he returned knowing he no longer wanted to fight the draw home.
On Sunday, Oct. 15, a month and five days after Irma and a little more than two years since he moved to Florida, B said he couldn’t stay. He said more than ever he knows that one criteria for the rest of his life is living close to family and since his family home on our little island is uninhabitable for at least a year, certainly that made staying difficult for him.
The gut-wrencher I didn’t expect was for him to say he didn’t want me to be part of this future rest of his life.
B said our futures aren't at the same stages - he means our 13-year age difference. It's just a number. B said he fears as we get older, that difference will feel more significant. It's just a number. Does he foresee decades of taking care of me as he so lovingly did when I had pneumonia? It could be the opposite - I could have to take care of him. Or we could have a long happy life together without sickness and only health and joy.
I didn’t see it coming. He loves me. I love him. Love conquers all right? It’s supposed to. The rest is just location and stuff. We could live up north six months of the year and in our beloved Marco - when my family is there - for six. We’re not snow-bird age but why not break some rules? His job is flexible and any future job of mine will be because that is going to be a criteria of mine.
It feels like the eye of the hurricane - all the air has been sucked out and I’m struggling to breathe.
The pain is physical - I’m nauseated; there’s a knot in my gut the size of a basketball (Go CATS - because I can almost laugh that I thought of that after saying basketball but there’s no joy just painful smiles); I hyperventilated more than once today; I have cried uncontrollably. This all feels wrong and awful and I feel like I’m missing a piece of the puzzle to explain it.
It’s as if I’m in a sad romantic drama. I want to yell at the screen “No! No you love each other. This isn’t right!” And then hope, while sitting on the edge of my seat, while I fight back tears that these two who are so meant to be together, who love each other so much, are together in the end. To hope upon hope that she opens her door one day and he’s there. He has turned the car around or flown back to her after he realizes he can’t and won’t live without her if he can help it. And it’s a magical Hollywood moment that starts the rest of their lives together. It happens. It happened for my parents. It can happen. I want it to happen,
When your heart is broken more than you ever thought possible, you either hide under the covers and sink into despair or you go see friends and fuzzies and hope the tears stop.
First stop, Wisconsin with a Wonder Woman twist.
My favorite superhero hero always seems to show up when I need her most. Watched the movie on the plane. “It’s not deserve. It’s about what you believe and I believe in love,” my hero declared.
Fuzzy to sleep with - thanks Jess
Hazel - a live fuzzy who is so cute and soft!
