It's been four months.
Four months since the disconnect, since the you are not what we want, since the we are cutting you loose.
How is it possible that after four months it still hurts this bad? That the tears can still fall unhindered, and the ache starts swirling with anger, and my head tells my heart, "It's OK...it's a stage in the grief process," and my heart says, "Bullshit, there is no such thing as grief stage processes." That you can be cutting up fresh fruit at the end of a great day, and suddenly you start thinking about them and missing them, and you end up here...crying.
Everyone will grieve in a different way, I've told my friend who recently lost a beloved family member. Sometimes we sit on her back porch and reminisce about our losses, our disconnects. Hers by nature; mine by other's choices. What is worse? To be discarded, or to be left behind when the good Lord calls someone you love home?
I can't claim to know the answer.
I just know it fucking hurts like hell.
I'm OK most of the time, and then nights like this it all comes piling onto my soul. It....this reminder that somehow after all these years, cross-country moves, career choices, and support, it just isn't enough.
Isn't that a fundamental question we all have: do I have what it takes? Am I good enough, just as the person I am?
And when the people you love the most say, "No. No, you are not good enough just as you are," the tears have to fall.
So fall they shall.