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I miss him today. Not the-him-he-is-now, but the-him-he-used-to-be. Happy. Confident. Full of life. Hysterically funny. I always imagined he slept with a smile on his face because he was so jovial. But the man who sat before me in May with Sybil is not the man I knew. Not the man I fell in love with so long ago and certainly not the man I shared my life with. It disturbed me, really, if I’m being honest, because the only thing familiar about him that day was his voice. He doesn’t even look the same anymore. And while we all change, he’s changed drastically since we parted ways in March 2016. So much so that my friends back home would text me when they saw him out saying “Wowza, I had to look at him three times before I realized it was really him. Is he sick or something?”
I’ve wondered that myself a time or ten because a couple of months after we stopped talking, someone tagged him in a group photo on facebook. I was all over that picture for two days and couldn’t find him in it. And I recognized all the faces but one: a man sitting in the back row wearing a gray shirt. I assumed someone tagged him accidentally, but as it turns out, the man I didn’t know was him. I was so rattled by it when I figured it out that I called my best friend Kyra in a panic. She was on a date with someone new and when she asked me if something was wrong with him and I whispered ‘maybe’, I heard her gasp quietly as she tried to find the words to say to me next.
I attribute the changes to a couple of things, but mostly to the fact that we aren’t together. He’s manifested that loss on the outside. And while I write about my grief in a very open manner, my changes have manifested on the inside in the form of high blood pressure and a myriad of other little health issues that don’t make any sense. The last time I laid eyes on him, my eyes searched his for familiarity and didn’t find it. Something, just give me something familiar, I said to myself. It was like looking at a person whose entire persona has been snatched by aliens. That’s the only way I can describe it. That’s how different he is. And while he’s still alive in the breathing sense, he’s dead in every other way. He’s merely existing, but not on any plane I recognize. He’s only a shell of the man I fell head over heels in love with so long ago. Death. It truly is like a death. And that appointment in May was the beginning of that death for me. I went to that office with my head held high and walked out of it crying so hard that I couldn’t catch my breath. My head was dragging so low as I made my way to the car that I am surprised I don’t have the worst case of road rash across my forehead that you’ve ever seen. And today? Today I hit bottom. Again.
The grief comes when I least expect it to…
….when my eyes rest on the dining room chair he used to sit in during our lunches. (Those decorative pillows don’t even smell like him anymore, but then I’m not surprised, because he didn’t smell the same the last time I had my face buried in his neck looking for the familiar, either)
….when I lay my head on the pillow he gave me. (It hurts my neck now, but I can’t part with it)
….when I’m walking the seashore and remember how much he loves the ocean too. (Does he still? Who really knows?)
….when I’m traveling back to North Carolina from Tennessee and out of nowhere, the sobs that rack my body surprise me so much that I have to pull over because I can’t see to drive through the tears. (Krissy, at some point you have got to pull yourself together)
…and then when something reminds me of him, something as trivial as catching the sight of someone out of the corner of my eye who has the same stature he does. (It happens)
I was out to dinner with my friend Suzi recently and from the back, I saw someone who looked like him. It took my breath, but then it always does. And it left me wondering if that man had a mole right under his hairline at the nape of his neck too, just like the-him-he-used-to-be. I once knew every landmark on his body: the knot on his chest that I used to try to kiss away much like a mother kisses the bruises and scrapes on her child’s knee. The slenderness of his hands. The buttery softness of the skin that used to stretch across his once-prominent round belly. The spot on his cheek that always gave him that little boy look that I loved so much. That place on his back that I always said he needed to get checked out because I was afraid it was melanoma. I keep telling myself that the man I fell in love with is no longer there and I keep hoping it will make the grieving process easier. It doesn’t. It hasn’t. At least not yet, and in the meantime, I’ve come to refer to this roller coaster ride as the unraveling. Unraveling is vulnerability and I don’t do vulnerable very well, especially without him. He taught me how to feel it; he taught me how to loathe it; and he taught me, unconsciously of course, how to embrace it.
I’ve heard it said that for everything we lose, we gain something else. And for me, I suppose that’s true. Because I’m learning who I am again after losing myself in him for far too long. It’s easy for a woman to lose herself in a man, you know, and I did. I’m remembering one night in particular. It was early on in our relationship and we were laying on the sofa at his house talking. I was getting ready to leave for chiropractic college, and I recall saying to him “Listen, I don’t know what we’re doing here, but I’m getting ready to move to St. Louis in a few months and I have to keep my head about me.” Lost. I got lost that night and sometimes, I still feel like I’m lost because even though he brought a ton of chaos into my life, he brought a lot of joy too and my world, although calmer, is vastly empty without him in it.
How do you grieve it out, you ask? I don’t pretend to know. I once posed that very question about grief and what to do about the-him-he-used-to-be to my friend Misty, who always knows exactly what to say when I’m hurting. Her words ring in my ears, even all these months later:
“You just have to figure out for yourself whether or not it’s worth it for you to try to breathe life into him again. Or to at least get the full story. But you’ve got this. You’ll know what to do. You’ll write about it and then you’ll know because writing helps put you in touch with your truth.”
I write about it often because it soothes my soul to let the words flow out through my fingers. And I call on my friends when I need some propping up. I continue to try to get in touch with my truth, and I cry every time I need to. What I don’t know, of course, is how to un-love him nor do I know how I could possibly breathe life back into him when I’m struggling so hard to breathe myself. I grieve every day, and sometimes, every second of the day. And as much as I despise the feeling of it, I’ve learned to let the grief wash over me when it comes so that the wound on my heart will scab over just a little bit more. It’s a process, my friend Marie says, and the loss of him is turning you into the warrior princess that you are.
Here’s to being a warrior.
What an amazing piece. I’ve could have used this a few years back myself but I was young and thought I knew what I wanted. They say times heals wounds but I feel like we just get used to the pain.
I think you’re exactly right, Kari…I don’t think time heals anything…I think we just become numb to it. He and I are still in touch and we talk about us and what went wrong a lot. Usually, it’s me busting his rear over his past behavior, but he accepts it because he knows he didn’t make the right decisions. While he has been one of my biggest sources of pain when it comes to romantic relationships, he’s also been my biggest joy. It’s such a catch-22 really. Thank you for commenting. I’m always so excited to see your name pop up on TMS! XoXo!
“Yes I agree with your article. It’s GREAT. I LOVED it so THANX!
Thanks Oussaa! Nice to see you again!!
Kristi! you write beautifully! You have amazing talent. Not many people (including myself) can display how they feel so openly thus allowing the reader to become immersed in the text. Very touching and sincere story.
“Alexander, thank you so much for saying that. I am humbled by your comments. I hope to see you back on Truly Madly Sassy again soon!”
“Your blogs are awesome madam, nice and informative”
“You are much too kind, Karthik…thank you very much!”
This! Thank you for your emotional tour into your world. Very good read.
“Hi Mikey! Thanks so much for commenting! And one thing I’ve learned about being a writer is this: the more transparent we are, the more likely our readers can relate to what we are saying. Please drop in again!”
Such a powerful post!
“Thank you so much, Marienne! Nice to see you on Truly Madly Sassy!”
This is so heartbreaking. Anyone who is dealing with a beoken heart could really relate to this. I am saving your blog…
Hi Apple! Thank you for saving it and for taking time to read it. I think we can all relate to a broken heart since I’m sure all of us have been there. Much love to you as you heal!
“Personal, heart touching, raw. You words drew me in and touched my heart. I hope you keep writing, unraveling, and shifting to something better than you hope for.”
“Thank you so much, Suzanne. Unraveling is indeed raw! I liken it to a caterpillar that becomes a butterfly: so much transformation takes place when we are forced to grow. Please do visit me again here at TMS! I am humbled by your comment!”
We’ve all loved a man the way you love him and those soul ties as you call them don’t pull apart easily. Thank you for sharing what lies on your heart. There are so many of us out there who get it.
“Ah, I love it when I hear someone say they get it! I think until a woman has been there, she can’t possibly understand that kind of love. Thanks, Rosie, for commenting on TMS!”
You are such a treasure. Don’t forget that.
Thank you Sarah. Thank you.
I love you sweet friend….one day at a time. That’s all we can do. Stay positive and pray
“I love you too Ky. You’ve been with me through every step of it, even at times I know you didn’t want to be. 24 years of friendship and we’ve only had one disagreement: over him. I’d say our track record is pretty good as far as being BFFs.”
“I didn’t know this. It hits home for me. I cry too. Thank you for sharing. I feel a bit more healed.
“Awww LaniI didn’t know you were struggling with the same thing, friend. The whole point of starting this blog is to not only heal myself, but to somehow heal others too. Thank you for being a part of my world…and you know I’m only a message or phone call away if you need a shoulder to cry on. XoXo!”
“I noticed in this one how he went from the man who had your heart to the him he used to be. I think that’s rather interesting because it seems the love you have for him, although still present, is shifting and shifting is good. I love your blog.”
“Thank you for commenting on TMS, LeAnne…and believe it or not, until you said it, I didn’t notice that. Here’s to shifting…”
“You make unraveling look ravishing, darling. Keep your chin up.”
“Thank you, thank you!”
“I don’t know that we can ever stop loving a person. Maybe we shouldn’t try. Perhaps we just learn to let the love be, and live with the hurt as best we can until one day the raw place becomes a battle scar. Hugs my dear!”
“I wish we could un-love them, but so far, I don’t believe we can do that either. My friend Tiffany says that one day, you just wake up, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. It hurts a little less as time goes on, but that feeling of betrayal is always ready to spill over. I have grieved more for him than I ever grieved for my former husband and the 21 years we spent together. Ridiculous and profound at the same time.”