Despite my anger with the man I was with and his lack of support during my recent health issues, I still miss him like whoa–it is almost hard to breathe. During the course of our relationship, he was my world. He became my very best friend…basically, my only close friend.
As much as he teased me our relationship was 95% positive and we had the connection I had always hoped to have with someone. From our very first date, we had chemistry…drinking gin and tonics and Guinness. I loved how easily the conversation flowed between us. Talking with him was effortless, which had happened only one other time in my life.
I miss meeting him for lunch in the middle of the day, bonding over “Archer”, taking the tram from Roosevelt Island to brunch, cooking together, impressing him with my domestic goddess skills, taking a nap in the middle of the day when he worked from home, Facetime, sleeping on his shoulder during movies, him being almost as clumsy as me, kicking him when he was snoring too loud and pretending it was restless leg syndrom…I miss planning our future. I miss happy tears.
He avoids all confrontation and difficult subjects…which is likely his excuse for ignoring what has been happening the last few weeks and telling me I don’t get to dmake decisions…for never addressing the unspeakable. His lack of concern is the only thing more painful than the miscarriage, itself…calling me “a nuisance” when I needed to speak to him because I was terrified.
My mother sent me a quote: “The hardest thing in the world is trying to fix a heart you didn’t break.” He broke mine…and I’m not sure even he could fix it. Every person has to mend his or her own chainsaw-attacked heart and near-demolished soul. And eyes must be open.
And I still love him. I miss him. I miss the delusional perfection of our dreams.
Most of all, I miss believing in Us.