So, about the post-romantic-partum mourning period.
It kind of sucks, a minefield for bad decisions, rebounds tugging at regrets featuring a horrid cast of beautiful might-have-beens seeking to stare down unpleasant realities, smart phones playing the role of dead-men’s-switches, fingers twitching to make that call, or better yet, to send that message, the one that’ll complete my humiliation. Whispers echo, “it’s not really impossible to put Humpty Dumpty back together again, just very difficult and a bit improbable, but worth the effort all the same”.
Desperate, the cognitive region of my being screams: “Wimp!!!! Idiot!!! Tool!!!!” The romantic segment, drowning in a somewhat salty flood of crystal clear drops responds, “please, just have faith for a while longer, where there’s time, there’s hope, ….” In the background however, a drumroll of sorts, or a drumbeat really, “bullshit, more shit and piled higher and deeper”. Trapped in the middle, frozen, like a deer stunned by onrushing headlights I wait. Time really is relative.
Sometimes seconds seem to last for days, days for weeks, weeks for months. It’s been four weeks in real time. I try to debrief asking: “have I not learned anything from this experience so oft repeated” admitting that with her the results are always the same? But hope within cajoles with a sibilant “there’s a first time for everything”. My cognitive functions, obviously on guard, respond: “don’t be a fucking idiot!” Fortunately, although she’s made a few appointments to pick up her things she’s broken them all.
Not unusual, not unusual at all. Par for the course ought to be a good thing and yet, seemingly it’s not. Although perhaps, in this instance, ….
So, about the five purported stages of grief: “denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance”. Can any of them be skipped? I seem stuck in a repetitive feedback loop feeling them all except the last. Cycles closing, … kind of frightening in a way. The misery she so often caused has become an old friend, or at least an old acquaintance, in a sick sort of way. For way to long acceptance has been king but where is acceptance now that I really need it, in a more positive fashion.
Mourning really sucks. Just how long does it have to last? According to her, social convention requires a full year, but of course, that’s only when it suits her. As I noted, time is relative, more so for some of us than for others. Apparently closing doors disturb me. “Fucking hope”, … Eternal is way too long for it to last. I envision a huge coiled feline, stealthy, watching for weakness, for opportunity, patient, waiting to spring. One I’ve encountered all too frequently before. I think its name is Legion.
A strange feeling seemingly fills my chest, in the place where love and then despair once habited.
It’s pleasant. How strange, warm rather than cold, uplifting rather than the swift descent of a falling elevator. I’ve not met someone new nor want to but I did read a bit of poetry written by someone whose lover had passed away, but whose love remained. Were that that were true for me. No, not that you’d pass away, what a horrible thought, but that what I once felt so strongly towards you, so profoundly, so thoroughly, might manage in some way to stay.
April 22, my least favorite day, a day for disasters and tragedies, but that was yesterday.
© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2019; all rights reserved. Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.
Guillermo Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia although he has primarily lived in the United States of America (of which he is a citizen). Until recently he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. He has academic degrees in political science (the Citadel), law (St. John’s University), international legal studies (New York University) and translation and linguistic studies (the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). He can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org and much of his writing is available through his blog at http://www.guillermocalvo.com.