Today I cried. For the first time since my heart was suddenly figuratively ripped out of my chest, I cried. It was simple. A friend is selling something that D and his wife need. I offered to connect them. And his wife wrote this to me: “…I miss you. And I’m sorry. I don’t understand, and I don’t want to know what happened. I just want you to know….”
And I cried. I cried because I don’t understand. Because I’m sad. Because I love him and I miss him. Because it was so amazing. And it’s gone. And I don’t understand and the person who is closest to him doesn’t either. And then I cried more because I thought I was good. And I felt weak and stupid and fragile. And I cried because I want to be angry but I can’t be angry anymore. I’m just hurt and sad and I can’t wrap an anger blanket around myself as protection any more. It’s the second time in my life I’ve had a broken heart. Like everything I tackle in my life, I thought I could power through. Force myself to heal and move on. Then with that message, I got a reminder that I’m not always in control, despite wanting to be. And I cried. Because I should. Because I’m human.