Laughing...until the end

There's a place a heart goes to when it's been broken. It's a strange place - you can't laugh or cry - you just kinda 'survive'. When you're in this place, the relationship becomes a blur. You're filled with impossible-to-answer questions. Confusion. Disillusionment. Sometimes, you look in the mirror and don't recognize the person staring back at you. For so long, you were defined by someone else. You were part of something. Now, you're just you. Alone.

There's no time limit for this relationship 'purgatory'. It lasts as long as it needs to. To help you heal. To help you find your way out. To help you see the light that's in front of you, and the darkness that's been left behind. To help you say goodbye - both to what was, and what could have been.

I went to visit my best friend this week. Before I left, though, I received an email from Providence boy. I had asked him a question about something I needed to include in the book, and we exchanged a few, short email correspondences. In one of his, he mentioned he was coming to Michigan for his annual golf tournament. I responded, laughing, telling him that I, too, was in Michigan. How ironic, huh? The next email was an invitation to spend the morning with him - pick him up from the airport, have breakfast, and then drop him off to meet his friends. I read the email and literally stopped breathing. Then I started cursing. Screaming. I don't know how to say 'no' to this man. For the past year, I have been saying yes, afraid of what would happen if I didn't. That he would start drinking. That he would walk away. Most of all, afraid that I would no longer be the martyr he came to know. I was terrified.

On my drive to her house, I called my friend. Hyperventilating. "WHAT THE HELL DO I DO!?!" After a very restless night's sleep, and relentless discussions with her, I knew what I needed to do. Actually, I knew right away. I just didn't want to admit it. I responded, telling him how badly I wanted to see him. To see that he's safe. To see his smile. To know he's okay. Alive. I've spent the last 12 months holding my breath, hoping he's still alive. But, there's too much pain still. Too many memories I need to let go. Too much hope. I need the distance. I need to say no.

His response was anything but pleasant. Unfortunately he's not capable of understanding my feelings. He cannot even begin to process the pain and anger I justifiably feel. As a last resort he uses his 'recovery' as an excuse. Always has. And, until he chooses sobriety, always will.

I read his response. And I got angry. For a brief moment. And then, surprisingly, felt peace. And relief.

I drove back to my parents' this afternoon. And, for the entire 2 hours I was in the car, I laughed. I sang. I thought about the ending to my book. I felt proud. In that moment, I realized I did it. I emerged from this place - not only smiling, but laughing. Loud.

And I'm still laughing. It feels good. No, it feels great!