“It was too perfect to last,’ so I am tempted to say of our marriage. But it can be meant in two ways. It may be grimly pessimistic – as if God no sooner saw two of His creatures happy than He stopped it (‘None of that here!’). As if He were like the Hostess at the sherry-party who separates two guests the moment they show signs of having got into a real conversation. But it could also mean ‘This had reached its proper perfection. This had become what it had in it to be. Therefore of course it would not be prolonged.’ As if God said, ‘Good; you have mastered that exercise. I am very pleased with it. And now you are ready to go on to the next.”
― C.S. Lewis,
At odd moments, I’m reminded that I’m still in mourning. When I’m commuting to work, or before I go to bed. Sometimes in the middle of a good book or movie too. I go about the majority of my day with hope and conviction, but one little thing will remind me of reality.
I don’t sleep very much. On a good night, I get perhaps 5 hours of actual rest. In the dead of night I pore over the things we said, all the things perhaps left unsaid. Whether any of it would have made a difference, yet knowing deep down that nothing could have.
I mourn for what we had and the future we could have built. So many possibilities that we’ll never see to fruition. I become so sad, and so weary. These have been the most difficult eight months of my life.
Then I grow afraid. There was once a certainty to the trajectory of our lives, and now everything before me is new and unknown. I’m alone for the first time in a very long time. How could I not be scared? I spiral downward, agonizing over what I could have done differently. Wondering why I can’t just be content or satisfied with what I had. There must be something wrong with me. Any sane person would hold on to what I had.
When I’m most panicked, I have to resist picking up the phone and taking everything back. I set everything in motion; surely I can reverse it all too. Maybe we can make things work this time; it wasn’t that bad, and I’ve definitely dealt with worse.
Somehow I pick myself up again by morning. I remember the why’s, and all the anger and frustration. I remember who I want to be, and how I worried I was becoming a stranger to myself.
To me, that was the most terrifying prospect: losing myself.
“This had reached its proper perfection.”
Perhaps that’s the truth of it. We loved, we learned, we grew, and now it’s time to move on to the next adventure.