Of Scabs and Scars
Yesterday was Father's Day. One would have had to live under a rock in the middle of nowhere to not know that fact. I have only one father living as both of my grandfathers have been deceased for decades, but I know many fathers, as many of my friends are fathers. Single or not, that's to be expected when one is in their late 30s.
Being on a tighter budget and lacking a certain amount of forethought, my own father got a phone call. He was perfectly happy with that, since he's never been one to really like receiving gifts. And, he's ridiculously hard to shop for, too. My other father friends got the obligatory Facebook shout-out.
Ah, Facebook. Holidays in the Twenty-First Century.
For a few days leading up to Father's Day, I considered whether or not I should send a text to one father that I know who is not currently on my Facebook friends list. He's a great father to his son, and he's a good friend although our relationship is a bit ... awkward right now. Yes, of course I'm referring to D.
I weighed the pros and cons of texting him, most from his perspective. We've gone a week without communicating, opening the space we both need, so would hearing from me be too soon? Would it be appreciated? Would he find it an annoyance, hearing from his ex-girlfriend? Yes, we parted amicably, but in one of his last texts to me while he admitted there would be times he, too, would want to text it clearly said he wouldn't, "not for a good while."
I also steeled myself against his possible reactions. Would I be able to handle texting him and not getting a reply? Would I be able to handle a reply that was quite delayed? A reply that was brief, terse even? Or a reply that included a request to not contact him? Frankly, the majority of my post-end-of-relationship communication experience has come from "The Ex," and that relationship ended much differently. I knew how that ex would reply, but I had no real clue as to how D would respond.
Still on the fence about the wisdom of sending the text, I only mentioned that I was considering sending this text to one, maybe two girlfriends. The one I know for sure that I mentioned it to was someone I saw just that morning. Trusting her take on many things, when I casually mentioned it she seemed to think that was a good idea. Well, at least she didn't say it was a bad one. Okay, she reacted positively, but we didn't discuss it at all, either.
I sent the text. It was fairly short, just a Happy Father's Day wish and a comment that he's a wonderful father to his son and I hoped he was celebrating this weekend. I got an immediate reply, and it turned out to be one I hadn't prepared myself for. At all.
To digress for just a moment, we all know what a scab is. Regardless of which usage one is referring to, medical or in regards to a strike, a scab is a temporary cover over an opening or wound. We've all had physical scabs on our bodies, and we know they can be annoying. Sometimes the urge to pick them off gets the better of us, and the result depends on how much healing has already taken place. There are times when you rip the scab off, and nothing happens other than revealing a patch that isn't quite as thick as the rest of the skin, but is well on its way to being fully healed. Or, on its way to being a scar. And then there are those times where you scrape off the scab only to have the wound bleed anew. Maybe it's not bleeding as profusely as when you first injured yourself, but it is bleeding nonetheless and you have set back the healing process on that wound by days.
The reply I got from D shouldn't have surprised me because he's a good guy. Period. First and foremost, he's a gentleman, and one with a heart of gold. Nevertheless, it did. And as the hours after the text passed, I realized a scab had been ripped off, and my wound is bleeding again.
See, the reply was sweet. Not just a "thank you," but also saying he had thought I might reach out to him today. Then the kicker line for me: "You made my day better."
At first it made me smile. He wasn't annoyed or upset to hear from me, and in fact, hearing from me had made what he called a great weekend even better. I told him he was welcome, and I'm glad I could make his day better, and that was the end of our conversation. The minutes and hours passed, and I realized in spite of the sunshine outside I was sinking again. I stepped back, mentally, and analyzed. And came to these thoughts:
I'd been so concerned about whether or not it would be too soon for him, and how he would react, and how I might react to a negative reply, that I hadn't given a single thought to how I would handle a positive reply. Not just a positive reply, but one reminiscent of our communiques while dating. I was like an alcoholic who'd thought they'd sufficiently recovered to be able to have "just a taste" without issue. Ha. Getting my taste just made me want more. I wanted the conversation to continue. I wanted to hang out with him. I wasn't thinking of anything sexual, but the intoxicating chemistry we had as friends. I can be a conversation junkie, and our conversations were often fascinating as we discussed religion and life, art and music, and all sorts of other topics.
In many ways, I've set back my own healing process quite a bit. Although in the past week I'd had times where the desire to text D had almost taken over my body, I had fought it and won. I hadn't reached out, I hadn't let myself sink into the deep pit of despair. Then a casual exchange, kind words sent both ways, knocked my knees out from under me. Ahead is an undetermined stretch of time where I should not text him, because that is what is best for me. Should he text me, that is a completely different ball game. But I know his tenacity, his determination. Once he makes up his mind to something, he can generally stick with it. I doubt he'll reach out to me anytime soon. We're probably talking months, to be honest.
The unknown is a chasm yawning before me. I am stepping forward each day on faith. In one of our very first conversations - via text, prior to meeting - D and I discussed "faith" and how, by definition, it is irrational. So irrationally I am putting one foot in front of the other, little by little, and trusting what I am doing is the "right" thing to do. I applaud myself for small victories, but usually have a reasonable goal in mind. The last goal specific to this situation: wait until Father's Day to text him. I accomplished that. My next goal is unknown, nebulous, and that is scary.
But life is one great unknown. To paraphrase a meme I shared on Facebook, when I get down I realize my track record for making it through days is 100%. And that's nothing to sneer at.
Being on a tighter budget and lacking a certain amount of forethought, my own father got a phone call. He was perfectly happy with that, since he's never been one to really like receiving gifts. And, he's ridiculously hard to shop for, too. My other father friends got the obligatory Facebook shout-out.
Ah, Facebook. Holidays in the Twenty-First Century.
For a few days leading up to Father's Day, I considered whether or not I should send a text to one father that I know who is not currently on my Facebook friends list. He's a great father to his son, and he's a good friend although our relationship is a bit ... awkward right now. Yes, of course I'm referring to D.
I weighed the pros and cons of texting him, most from his perspective. We've gone a week without communicating, opening the space we both need, so would hearing from me be too soon? Would it be appreciated? Would he find it an annoyance, hearing from his ex-girlfriend? Yes, we parted amicably, but in one of his last texts to me while he admitted there would be times he, too, would want to text it clearly said he wouldn't, "not for a good while."
I also steeled myself against his possible reactions. Would I be able to handle texting him and not getting a reply? Would I be able to handle a reply that was quite delayed? A reply that was brief, terse even? Or a reply that included a request to not contact him? Frankly, the majority of my post-end-of-relationship communication experience has come from "The Ex," and that relationship ended much differently. I knew how that ex would reply, but I had no real clue as to how D would respond.
Still on the fence about the wisdom of sending the text, I only mentioned that I was considering sending this text to one, maybe two girlfriends. The one I know for sure that I mentioned it to was someone I saw just that morning. Trusting her take on many things, when I casually mentioned it she seemed to think that was a good idea. Well, at least she didn't say it was a bad one. Okay, she reacted positively, but we didn't discuss it at all, either.
I sent the text. It was fairly short, just a Happy Father's Day wish and a comment that he's a wonderful father to his son and I hoped he was celebrating this weekend. I got an immediate reply, and it turned out to be one I hadn't prepared myself for. At all.
To digress for just a moment, we all know what a scab is. Regardless of which usage one is referring to, medical or in regards to a strike, a scab is a temporary cover over an opening or wound. We've all had physical scabs on our bodies, and we know they can be annoying. Sometimes the urge to pick them off gets the better of us, and the result depends on how much healing has already taken place. There are times when you rip the scab off, and nothing happens other than revealing a patch that isn't quite as thick as the rest of the skin, but is well on its way to being fully healed. Or, on its way to being a scar. And then there are those times where you scrape off the scab only to have the wound bleed anew. Maybe it's not bleeding as profusely as when you first injured yourself, but it is bleeding nonetheless and you have set back the healing process on that wound by days.
The reply I got from D shouldn't have surprised me because he's a good guy. Period. First and foremost, he's a gentleman, and one with a heart of gold. Nevertheless, it did. And as the hours after the text passed, I realized a scab had been ripped off, and my wound is bleeding again.
See, the reply was sweet. Not just a "thank you," but also saying he had thought I might reach out to him today. Then the kicker line for me: "You made my day better."
At first it made me smile. He wasn't annoyed or upset to hear from me, and in fact, hearing from me had made what he called a great weekend even better. I told him he was welcome, and I'm glad I could make his day better, and that was the end of our conversation. The minutes and hours passed, and I realized in spite of the sunshine outside I was sinking again. I stepped back, mentally, and analyzed. And came to these thoughts:
I'd been so concerned about whether or not it would be too soon for him, and how he would react, and how I might react to a negative reply, that I hadn't given a single thought to how I would handle a positive reply. Not just a positive reply, but one reminiscent of our communiques while dating. I was like an alcoholic who'd thought they'd sufficiently recovered to be able to have "just a taste" without issue. Ha. Getting my taste just made me want more. I wanted the conversation to continue. I wanted to hang out with him. I wasn't thinking of anything sexual, but the intoxicating chemistry we had as friends. I can be a conversation junkie, and our conversations were often fascinating as we discussed religion and life, art and music, and all sorts of other topics.
In many ways, I've set back my own healing process quite a bit. Although in the past week I'd had times where the desire to text D had almost taken over my body, I had fought it and won. I hadn't reached out, I hadn't let myself sink into the deep pit of despair. Then a casual exchange, kind words sent both ways, knocked my knees out from under me. Ahead is an undetermined stretch of time where I should not text him, because that is what is best for me. Should he text me, that is a completely different ball game. But I know his tenacity, his determination. Once he makes up his mind to something, he can generally stick with it. I doubt he'll reach out to me anytime soon. We're probably talking months, to be honest.
The unknown is a chasm yawning before me. I am stepping forward each day on faith. In one of our very first conversations - via text, prior to meeting - D and I discussed "faith" and how, by definition, it is irrational. So irrationally I am putting one foot in front of the other, little by little, and trusting what I am doing is the "right" thing to do. I applaud myself for small victories, but usually have a reasonable goal in mind. The last goal specific to this situation: wait until Father's Day to text him. I accomplished that. My next goal is unknown, nebulous, and that is scary.
But life is one great unknown. To paraphrase a meme I shared on Facebook, when I get down I realize my track record for making it through days is 100%. And that's nothing to sneer at.
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