The Old House

I found myself nearly paralyzed in Target the other day, doubled over my cart in pain and wanting to crawl under a shelf. No, it wasn’t the hands. It’s this stupid heartbroken grief that keeps rearing its ugly head.


Browsing hampers and shower liners for a new house, I was instantly more than two thousand miles away looking for hampers and hangers for a completely different house – one with a future. I stumbled upon the jewelry box the Ninja gave me for my birthday and had to stop for a few minutes, not quite believing it was the exact same one I so carefully packed and padded for the drive back across the desert. Returning a shower caddy to the clearance shelf because I have a nearly-new shower caddy (also a gift from the Ninja) hurt more than any of the post-surgery falls I’ve had. Sure, it’s good for the brand that the stores are the same nationwide. Don’t they know it’s bad for my sanity?


As I said as I was leaving, when you spend two and a half years with someone, living every day so intensely together, it’s not as if you can simply flip a switch and turn everything off. Never mind all the anger, sadness, and frustration at the end there’s still the foundation of love and affection with which we started. After investing so much into a relationship, when it’s over is like having a leg amputated but then still looking to see if your shoe’s untied.


This too shall pass, and if anyone knows that nothing lasts forever it’s me. The grief is nearly gone. There is no fear of moving forward, no regret. The scabs have worn down and soon the scars will regain feeling.  Yet, until then, I suppose I won’t be shopping for housewares.

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