The End of the World As We Know It

And with all of these new beginnings coming to pass, I am pressed to tell you of yet another. One that is not so routine and not so anticipated.

It is a reluctant new beginning. A beginning with far less excitement but just as much trepidation as starting Middle School.

J. and I have begun to slowly untangle our lives from one another.

Pause for reaction.

It has been a less-than-graceful dance for sure. Riddled with fits and starts. Neither of us willing partners in the tearing apart. Neither of us fleeing the other. But on some level coming to terms, inch by inch, night by night, milestone by milestone, with the fact that we are not what we intended to be for each other anymore. However unfathomable that is.

It is the saddest thing I have had to accept. I love J. Adore him. I mourn the loss of the life we’d hoped for and dreamed about having together. But clinging to it will not bring it back. It is truly gone.

I know we’ve thrown away the baby with the bathwater. There are things I’d be naïve to expect to ever have with another person. Facets of our life together that made me feel whole and happy, when the odds on whole and happy were pretty grim. Things that endure even now. Things that are rare and beautiful and coveted.

But we have stopped being a source of peace and happiness for one another – and if you can’t be those, well, what are you? A source of angst and misery? And while I’d love to believe we will remain friends after all this life together, I’d be insane to think that we could. And that leaves me heartbroken. J. is truly my dearest friend. And a friend is a very hard thing to lose.

But I don’t think it would be fair for me to call him and expect him to help me snake my bathtub drain again when it seems an entire toupee or even a live cat has been caught in it. Or for me expect him to care that my garden has been taken over by Deadly Nightshade again. Or to expect him to be elated for me when I win the lottery, or book a great vacation or my child gets into a wonderful school. Or to expect him to empathize when I go on a date with someone I think might be fabulous only to learn that he is a total putz with hellacious manners, and poor grammar and a wife already. Or to act like he gives a shit when my ex-husband takes me to court to demand more child support because I got promoted. No. He loves me but this type of friendship would be expecting too much. All bets are off.

And for that I am profoundly regretful. Because no matter what, I love J. for who he is, and who he has been, and who he will always be. I will always want to tear his ex-wife’s brittle, over-processed hair out of her mishapen head in fistfuls for her unrelenting attempts to take just a little more from him. I will always want to turn a cartwheel, however awkwardly, when he lands a big account. I will always hear his reassuring voice resonating in my dreams. I will always want him to know how much I appreciated all that he did for me, when I was so hateful I would not have done anything nice for me. I will always want to know if he is unwell or troubled so I can be a voice of comfort and reason when the hens are clucking around him making matters worse.

But for now, those will be unpoken thoughts. Private matters. Matters of the heart only.

So I am starting life a-new.
It just doesn’t feel so smooth and shiny.
And it certainly is not wrapped up in a big red bow.