I’ve had an emotional few days, after running into Lee and getting the cold shoulder. I recognize that my grief about the loss of our loving relationship is all tied up with my ex’s death, given their timing…so, when I’ve struggled emotionally, I’ve struggled mightily. I’m not trying to cast blame; I’m merely trying to get back to a good place — a place where my confidence doesn’t feel so shaken, a place where I can move forward, where I’m ready and able to meet someone and create something as amazing or better than what Lee and I shared.
Given the craziness of it all, I’ve occasionally had to check myself. Was it really that great? Am I just making up how good we were together?
Those friends of mine who’d met Lee had universally positive feedback — they could see how easy and natural we were together, they said he seemed solid and stable, and they commented on how clearly into me he was. That helps, but…
A couple of times now — after our email exchanges and after seeing him the other day — I’ve scrolled back through the relationship documented in our text history as if I were an anthropologist looking for evidence of how those two lived and related. Through these exchanges, I see two people clearly smitten with one another, flirting, teasing and making plans in a way that — had I not been a part of it — I would have envied.
But I was there. I (blue bubbles, below) was crazy about him. And he (gray) was crazy about me. Here are just a few examples:
This was an exchange the evening after he’d first told me he loved me:
A couple of days later, Lee’d had friends over for the evening. They were playing guitar and singing, while I was enjoying family time with my children.
This one may be TMI:
Then there was this…after I’d left his place on Valentine’s Day, when we’d planned the California vacation.
“You’re so right in so many ways.”
“…good times ahead for you and I [sic].”
“I missed you five minutes after you walked out.”
I feel a little guilty about sharing these screen shots, almost as though I’ve invited you into the bedroom with us. Our relationship was ours, private and sacred, not something I’d be writing about at all if we were together today. Yet, for all the times someone’s asked me what happened, heard my story and assured me it’s not me who’s crazy, I still can’t wrap my head around how we went from bliss to no communication practically overnight — and, now, to icy civility.
I know I need to stop looking back in order to embrace today and move forward. Still, seeing real, tangible evidence that we were so, so good together helps me feel a little more sane.