February 01, 2003 - 10:37 p.m.

Ambushed...

Perhaps hearing about the Columbia space shuttle tragedy put me in a melancholy mood today. At any rate, be prepared as I am about to host a pity party.

I am starting to get used to the daily wear and tear of break-up aftermath. I rarely have to remind myself to refer to S as my _ex_boyfriend. I can deal with the usual reminders of him: photos, a dress he was particularly fond of, a recipe we tried out together, etc. It's not that I am unaffected by them, but I guess that I have grown accustomed to the many markers of his absence.

Nonetheless, occasionally, there are little things that sneak up and blindside me. One day, while driving, my fingers happened to brush lightly against the fleshy part of my palm. Something about that sensation recalled all the sweetness and companionship of simply holding hands, and I found myself in tears as I drove down the road. Another time I realized that I can still vividly recall the feeling of his face in my hands when he hadn't shaved in a day or two. Most recently, I happened to see a commercial on TV involving soccer players. I've always had a thing for what I call "soccer player legs", and S had them: strong and well-muscled. That passing glimpse of a commercial reminded me of those athletic legs of his and left me feeling inexplicably overwhelmed.

Obviously, part of the impact of these moments is derived from their shock value. When I pass by his old apartment, I am prepared to face memories and steel myself against them. But these incidents have come at unexpected and unpredictable times. They often leave me feeling as though I have been punched in the stomach, momentarily breathless with surprise and loss.

But, I think it is not surprise alone that accounts for the extreme emotions these associations inspire. Rather, it is that they provide an unwelcome reminder of just how deeply ingrained S is in my life; so deeply that there are images and memories of him buried in the crevices of my mind yet to be discovered. The depth of my feelings for him and the strenght of our relationship had nothing whatsoever to do with the muscular curve of his calf or the rough stubble of his cheek. In fact, I disliked the sensation of his unshaven cheek against mine. Yet, as I am only now discovering, I let him become such an integral part of my life that even those unimportant things became engraved on my mind in a way I cannot forget, even if I would like to.

I am tired of remembering. I am tired of wondering whether I should have done things differently. I am sick of feeling awkward every time I relate an anecdote that happens to include him. I hate feeling I have to ration my contact with him. I wish I didn't wake up some mornings wanting to see his smile when I open my eyes. But, of course, I can't have what I want. So I just have to get through the days with the knowledge that eventually this too shall pass. The best I can do is continue to live my life as fully as possible and watch out for those ambushes.

musing about: what went wrong at 200,000 feet

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flutter back - fly ahead