I drove by his workplace after an exhilarating dance class; it’s unavoidable when travelling to and from the industrial East side of the city. One side of the entire building is floor-to-ceiling glass, and without wanting to, I reflexively looked in as my car stopped at the red light. There he was, sitting at a desk scrolling on his phone, wearing the jacket I’d wrapped around myself more than once while snuggling into his protective arms. If I hadn’t been aware of the things he’d done to hurt me, this would have been a welcome opportunity: I used to relish this drive-by scenario, honking and waving madly to get his attention, giggling to myself and hopefully embarrassing him in the process. That evening, it just made me sad. And then I got mad because I was sad.
I’m supposed to be learning about the grief process, healing, starting over fresh, etc. What I’m learning is that it hurts in waves. Most of the time I’m getting through my day managing my emotions fairly well, and then a memory makes me laugh, or makes me so angry that I start crying gigantic crocodile tears that just won’t go away. And I want them to disappear, I want the pain to vanish. But for some reason, the tears are oddly comforting, like a sad song I’ve listened to dozens of times or a campfire that I let myself get lost in. Do you know what I mean? Why are these tears so warm and inviting while they sting my cheeks at the same time?
I find pieces of him all over the house. I’ve been collecting them for some full moon exorcism, I suppose… Or I’m finding it hard to completely disconnect, if I have to tell the truth. But I am aware that with this collection of his things, I must perform a completion and thus welcome in a new beginning. So, to the Snuggle Dome memorabilia, I’m saying goodbye, respectfully but firmly.
As 2022 opens it arms anew, I will participate fully. Memories, new ones that are fresh and sparkling and beautiful—these are what will drive me in 2022. A whim trip to Kauai? Don’t mind if I do! Snowshoeing with fellow goddesses? Yes please! Should I write a novel and tell everyone about it so that I’ll stay accountable? Why the hell not!? I can do whatever I set my mind to, and that includes loving my imperfect self, and allowing myself the time to heal.