So first of all, I can't believe I wrote about this in April. I thought I last wrote about this last month. I think since I've been traveling so much lately that months and dates mean little to me. This may seem funny to my friends who know that I throw away food the second it says that it is expired.
I can honestly say until I looked down at my computer date clock just this second I had no idea what the day was.
Another reason time is unimportant is because I'm in my own purgatory right now. My coworkers will laugh at that term. "You're so dramatic. You're such a drama queen." And I am in my own way. I don't cause drama, or seek drama, but I tell stories or recall events in a very dramatic fashion. Just last week (exactly I think) I was at the airport in Warsaw, Poland telling a story. A random man stopped me and said, "I can tell you are a great educator because you are so dramatic in the way that you speak to your students." Then he gave me a thumbs up and went on his way.
Maybe he was my guardian angel, but I don't really think I have one, and if I do, it's not a random guy in Poland, rather my grandparents who I sometimes envision at my side holding me up.
I had that kind of vision was when I got engaged. He and I were walking around Lakeview, telling various people who were most important to us in person. Through my smile I was terrified. Of what exactly, I don't know. Or maybe I do know and I did know. But through that terror, holding his hand, I could feel my Bubbie and Zadie holding me up. I know it sounds freaky, but it's what I felt.
There was a time during our engagement when he told me he didn't know if he wanted to get married anymore. It was an awful time. It was, well, purgatory. But every day I went to work, and every afternoon (almost) I went to the gym, and every week I talked to trusted friends who supported me every step of the way.
In the end, when it didn't work out, as I said in my previous post, I fled my apartment into a condo where I put boxes and boxes of things without sorting them. Since last July, when the relationship I am in now, was progressing, I began cleaning out those boxes albeit fearing what I would find that I haven't seen in seven years.
So I took down a plastic storage container tonight. It looked innocuous. Bills, and such. And then there it was. The book he made me. A bound book with emails from our relationship that ended with "Will you Marry me?" Inside the book were three pictures. I remember why I saved the pictures and the book. I remember thinking that one day, when my son or daughter's heart was really broken, I would tell them the story of my heart being obliterated (dramatic) and let them know that they would be better some day, just like I am.
One of the pictures is of him telling me something at a family bar mitzvah, and me laughing very hard. The second was of us at a friend's wedding. In both pictures I look very, very happy and beautiful. There were other pictures, too. One of me signing a friend's ketubah and me at her wedding. They are some of the few pictures I have of myself wearing the engagement ring that I gave back to him on a beautiful May day seven years ago.
Finding the book and finding the pictures were something I feared for the last seven years. So how did I feel?
I felt like I was looking at artifacts. I liked seeing that smile. I liked the evidence that what happened to me was true, even though so many people encouraged me to forget about it. I'll never completely forget about it, even if should. I won't. For those who have memories that fade easier than mine, perhaps you are blessed. Although I don't think of myself as cursed.
Right now, this very second, I'm going through something similar that I went through when I was engaged and my exfiance told me he wasn't sure he wanted to marry me anymore. Actually, it's not similar at all, but in my head it feels similar.
I am waiting to hear from the U.S. government if my potential roommate will get his Visa. It is totally out of my hands. I am completely powerless. The decision is in a sealed envelope. When it is opened I have no idea what it will say.
Every single person (including him) is confident that it will be positive. I have spent the last 10 days carrying the same feelings I carried seven years ago: preparing for the worst. I've been increasing my trips to the gym, I've been meditating, and sometimes I will let someone know how much I'm suffering (dramatic) with anxiety
As for that book and those pictures, I put them away. Because deep in my heart I know that I will someday have that conversation about heartbreak with my son and daughter during another excavation, at another time, in another home filled with love.