The Crossroads.

Nice, France, September 2010

Lately, my brain has been encouraging me to move forward, have new experiences, meet new people, consider the future.  But my heart is confused, it wants to go back.  Because the more present I am to the here and now and the possibilities of this life before me, the further I am from the life behind me, from George, from all of the memories and emotions and interactions that encapsulated us and made us who we were.  I don't want to lose that.  And my brain tells me, "Dear, you already have."  But I still hold the remains of our relationship in my heart and in my mind, and the fear is that there is not enough space for everything.

You want new experiences and relationships?  Well, then some of the old stuff has to go.

Sure, I can write it all down and document it with pictures and words, but that FEELING, the pure simple joy I felt when he was in my arms, the sound of his heartbeat, his smell, the shape of his lips under my tongue, the texture of his hair, the way he held me and touched me that can never be replicated by anyone else in quite the same way -- all of THAT, where does it go over time?

I understand now why people who are grieving memorialize the physical space of the loved one they've lost.  By not changing what's visible and tangible, you can try to preserve those memories, that feeling of what it was like when they were alive.  And by choosing not to find love again, you can freeze your heart and mind in time, and concentrate your energies on preserving those very specific details and sensory experiences that will only ever belong to that one person who you loved and lost.  I didn't understand it before, but I understand it now.

It is So.  Hard.  To.  Let.  Go.

It is one thing to let go of the future I wanted to have with George, and another thing entirely to let go of the past.  Because as I move forward, the past with George is replaced by another past.  And another past.  And another past.  Until someday, George feels like lifetimes ago.  He feels like the man in my dreams last night, an image, a non-reality.  My future never belonged to me.  But my past did, once.

​Nothing scares me more than waking up one day and not being able to remember what George felt like.  The very thought sends tears pouring down my face.  And yet I wonder if it is simply inevitable, if what I choose is to live my life in the present and look forward to the future.  It feels, quite literally, like a piece of me is dying.  A piece that I love so much.  And somehow, I must allow it to.  This is the sacrifice.  It may be the greatest sacrifice of my life.