It was the winter of 1996 and I was standing in the middle of the produce section of a grocery store wondering how anyone could fuss over a navel orange when my grandfather had just been found, face down in the drifted snow next to his mobile home. I thought for sure that the clocks would have stopped, that time would be frozen somehow, so that everyone could acknowledge the passing of someone who was so dear to me. How could people go on about their day, squeezing heads of iceberg lettuce, griping about the long lines, and fumbling through their purses for coupons? How could life continue to be so ordinary?
I thought of that today when my neighbor walked by with her Golden Retriever. She’s a pleasant gal. I’ve not chatted with her a whole lot. She has commented that she likes the wine glasses hanging from the wine rack above my kitchen window. We exchange pleasantries. She always has a smile on her face. Her dog is beautiful, and he’s always excited to see Rita. Today her smile annoys me. Last night I said goodbye to my long distance friend. I can’t quite fathom how my neighbor can be so damned happy when I feel as though my heart has been flattened, drained of life, and pinned to the bulletin board. Naturally, the neighbor lady doesn’t have a clue. I envy her delight in the simple, mindless pleasure of walking her dog. She makes one pass, two passes, and the kids comment on her happy grin. By the fourth pass, I’m thinking, “Pick a different route. Please.”
I am marveling at how messed up I am at the demise of this relationship. After all, it was long distance. I’m not sure it ever had the chance to get to the point of being called a relationship. We didn’t get to know each other well enough to find out what would irritate us about each other. Maybe that explains the sadness. It’s over before it got bad, or before we had the chance to see that it could be really, really good. But I’ve been thinking all day that it’s strange that I’m worse off now than when I left Mark. Back then, things had been bad for quite awhile when I decided to move out. By the time the kids and I had moved to my mom’s, all I could think was that it was great to be able to breathe again. It was good to see that the sky was still blue. Life could be simple and good. I could find pleasure in the routine of caring for kids, and being with family. We had come out of the darkness at Mark’s. It was hard to be too sad.
The end of this relationship is different because I was clinging to what I thought was the promise of a happy future. I see now that I was clinging to him like a lifeboat. He even told me once that I should remember that this was my first relationship since my divorce — and all that implied. (I hate the word ‘rebound’ as it applies to relationships.) He was a huge part of my surviving the narcissism. I’m thinking I’m going to learn more about the surviving now that I don’t have the lifeboat anymore.
Maybe it’s time we got a dog.
Tags: divorce, life, love, narcissism, narcissist behavior, narcissistic behavior, NPD, survive
I highly recommend a dog. They have some for sale in the town up the road. So cute, that if I had the money, I would have had 3 more dogs. They will weigh about ten pounds full grown …..when can you come and pick up your new family member?
I can also find you a new house around here too. Just something to keep in mind. ;)
I’m sorry about your relationship. Your nets are here. Just let us know what we can do.
Oh boy, I am so sorry for this.
Donna and Annie,
I realized, when seeing your comments, that this blog and all of you are my lifeboat. Funny thing… he is the one who convinced me to start the blog.
Jenny drew the heart. The orange part in the center is the band aid holding the broken pieces together.
Awww….what a sweet picture! She is very talented and caring.
He was a catalyst for healing in your life. We are grateful that he prompted you to do your blog, and maybe that is all he was ever meant to be. If that is all, that is enough.
Treat yourself to a massage, bubble bath, hike in the woods, or something that brings your heart peace, if only temporarily.
You and your kids still have a happy future coming. It just might not look the way you thought. But every time you do something different: think a different way, feel a way that was different than you used to, react a different way – you are creating a new future!
You might need to grieve a different way, and maybe thats what this experience is about also. Or maybe it’s triggered old stuff that feels so familiar. In any case, we are here for you.
Don’t forget to cry.
PS: When are you coming to pick up your dog?? ;)