“You know, these last two years have been the hardest ones
of my entire life,” I said. “If I took all of the bad, tragic things that have
ever happened to me, about 90% of them happened between 2013 and 2014.”
“I know,” my mother answered on the end of the other line. “It’s
true. It’s been that way for us too."
***
I was coming home from work last night, a little later than
usual, and I saw a guy jogging. At first I thought it was Hot Shirtless Jogging
Dude, but as he got closer, I saw that it was actually Matt. Our eyes met and
locked. I hadn't seen him all year. He lives in my neighborhood, yet we almost
never cross paths. He passed by, and I shamelessly watched him as he jogged
away.
I had felt cute all day. I’d walk by guys at work and smile,
because I thought my hair and my clothes looked good. But when Matt looked at
me, I didn't feel cute anymore. I felt drab. My clothes were boring colors and
not as flattering as I had thought. My hair was childish and frizzy. The moment
I looked into his eyes, I saw myself through his, and I was old, dull, and countrified—as
if I had never left the cornfields I grew up in.
And then it hit me. The guys I've dated since him never
really mattered. Sure, they were a lovely distraction for a while, and maybe I
even learned a few things along the way. But I never really loved them—not in the way I loved Matt. And when we broke
up, I was sad for a little while over them, but within a month, or even in one
case, just a few days, I discovered that it wasn't these most recent guys who I
missed. It was Matt. It had always been Matt.
A friend had once asked, “Do you miss him?” To which I
answered, “Only when I’m breathing.”
It’s been a year and a half, slowly creeping into 2 years,
and I still miss him with that same kind of regularity. I have a friend who recently
lost her boyfriend of 4 years. I want to tell her that it’s going to be
alright, that the pain goes away in time. I want to pat her hand and smile as I
offer words of encouragement. But I can’t, because I don’t even have that kind
assurance for myself. So instead, I just tell her, “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”
***
These have been a hard two years. But oddly enough, I wouldn't
undo them. I wouldn't ask for Mom Mom and Carvey and Anita to come back,
because they’re better off. They don’t suffer anymore.
I wouldn't wish that I had never met Matt, because with him,
I learned I can love and be loved as I never realized was possible. I really
wouldn't change any of these things, or even the unmentioned ones that I don’t
talk about here, because out of these dead hopes and dreams and empty spaces in
my heart, grew some things that are even heartier than what I lost.
God talks to me now. You know, back home, I was safe and un-rattled
by life. I didn't need comforting, so God didn't have to comfort me. But now,
some days, he’s the only one here, and I need him. God knows I need him. So he
talks. Sometimes I hear him, sometimes he sends words through friends, sometimes
he sends me physical, tangible messages. And you don’t know joy or amazement
until you've heard God speak.
And my friendships are deeper. Yes, I had wonderful friends
when I lived back home. I have a very strong support system in my little circle
of girlfriends, but I never knew how strong until I moved away. It’s one thing
to be friends when you live close by and can visit whenever you wish, but it’s
another thing when the people you love make the long drive, spend money on the
hotel room, and come to see you simply because they miss you, or because they
want to surprise you at your very first play in a new theatre. I didn't know
how strong my friendships back home were until I moved away, and I wouldn't
replace that for anything.
***
So it’s hard, but I’m breathing. I miss those who are gone;
I miss those who moved on without me. But I’m breathing. Missing them, but I’m
breathing.
