On our last date, Brad and I toured my neighborhood, stopping for drinks and small plates at a few of the local establishments. As always, we had fun talking and touching. We ended our evening making out on my sofa, and he thanked me for a fun and relaxing evening once he’d arrived safely at home.
The next day, he texted me “Good morning, sexy!” Then later, one of those strangely detached messages about hanging out at Best Buy while waiting for one of his children to be done with practice.
And then nothing.
It’s been two weeks. A girlfriend admonished me to Google him to ensure he wasn’t injured in a car crash.
But I knew.
I told my son he hadn’t been texting me back. He said, “Mommy, he’s busy with work and his kids; I’m sure he’ll text you.”
I told my daughter I’d been ghosted. She said I’d been left on scene. I guess that’s what the kids are saying these days.
It’s easy to see looking back that he wasn’t really emotionally in it. It’s easy to revisit and recall the exchanges we had in which I was looking for a connection, but got detachment in return. Along the way you wonder what it means; and whether something will change and evolve. It never does. You’d think I’d have learned that by now. And it still hurts.
The worst parts are:
- Having to put on a sad movie to watch with my son so that it would seem normal that I was crying during our usual Friday night family time.
- I miss him.
- Dealing with the anger that’s been boiling up. Seriously, there are compassionate ways to end relationships, and this was not one of them.