The Past
Dangerous Cargo
From the book, Lessons From the End of a Marriage:
Summer 2010
A year passed. Anniversaries knocked against my still-fragile mind like branches against an unsheltered window in a storm. Three hundred and sixty-six days after I lost my husband, I again stood in front of the security line at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson airport. One year ago, I stood ensconced in my husband’s arms for the last time before I left to reconnect with my father. One year hence, I stood with my new boyfriend, trying not to crumple under the memories as he embraced me before sending me on my way to see my mother’s side of the family. My past, present, and future all collided in front of the TSA poster that advised travelers about carry-on restrictions. I wasn’t worried about the contents of my bag; I was still carrying dangerous cargo in my heart.
Tuesday was a huge victory for me. It was the first day since July of 2009 that I passed by the location where I last saw my husband where I not only didn’t relive the scene, but I didn’t even recall it until much later.
There is a balance between exposure and avoidance that allows trigger places like this to lose their power in time. It’s not easy – it takes the patience to wait and the strength to face your tormentor. Don’t rush it but also know that it can happen for you as well. The effort and waiting is so worth it because it is such an amazing feeling when you realize that those places cannot hurt you anymore. On Tuesday, I wasn’t worried about passing through security; I had already released the dangerous cargo.
The trip relates to some exciting news about this blog. More information to come soon! 🙂
Everything Has Changed But the Birthdate
I had to buy a new pair of shoes the other day. I visited a store where I have a shopper’s card that gives me coupons for each purchase made. The problem? I have no idea where the card has migrated to. At the checkout, the cashier asked if I was member. I replied, “Yes, but I have no idea where my card is.”
“No problem. We’ll just look you up in the system.”
Well, she didn’t know it yet, but that was certainly a problem. I knew that I had accessed the account and updated some information during the past three years, but I no idea what current combination lived in their system.
“Phone number?”
I gave her my number. No matches.
“Name?”
Again, I replied. Again, no success.
“Email?”
The machine responded, “No matches.”
“Address?”
At this request, My mind blurred. I’ve had five addresses in three years. I gave up.
Then, a flash. I realized that I hadn’t purchased shoes there since I received a new phone and accompanying number. I gave her my old phone number – the one I sought out after my husband left to provide a layer over my old life.
Success. It pulled up my married name, the address of my apartment that I got one year out from sudden singledom, and a temporary email that I used for a brief period.
Everything had changed but the birth date.
She updated the account with my current information. Which, other than the address, should remain fairly constant for the forseeable future.
It was a moment of reflection for me. I no longer identify with the woman that had those other data points. I am no longer the innocently married woman that carried his name. I no longer have that phone number that was sought out in the initial fear and desperation of those early days. I no longer live alone; I have now found a new and happy relationship. The email addresses I have now reflect the success of my new life with the writing and the coaching. And, as for the birth date, I will keep that one happily, for each year has brought more wisdom and gratitude than the one before.
Oh, and the shoes are cute too!
Try Being Wrong
Mosaic
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 