I stepped on a landmine yesterday.
They lurk out there in the normal world – unseen, unknown – always taking me by surprise and triggering a rush of emotion. There is absolutely no way to prepare for them. No way to guard against them. The only thing to do is to know they’re out there. The only guarantee is that I’ll trip the wire. And when it happens, all I can do is hang on. Hold on tight while the emotion sweeps through, and know that it will pass without washing me away.
Yesterday I clicked on a video of a young couple expecting their first child. Seems obvious in hindsight, but in the moment I never once thought it could be trouble. The image, at the end, of the three of them – mom, dad, baby – crushed me. The raw pain of loss, the things we never got to do together, all came rushing at me in an instant.
And I wished, with every bit of my body, my heart, my soul…I wished to turn back time. I ached, head to toe, to just be able to stand there for a moment, as you kissed the top of my baby boy’s head and smiled proudly. To feel safe, content, wrapped up in a blanket of love.
We never, never, never had that moment. I never did. And I never will. I haven’t yet reconciled this wound and it seems unlikely that I ever will.
Tonight R turned on the radio in his room, and “Last Goodbye” by Jeff Buckley was playing. I love that song. The lyrics reminded me of you…
This is our last goodbye
I hate to feel the love between us die
But it’s over
Just hear this and then I’ll go
You gave me more to live for
More than you’ll ever know
If I didn’t have these landmines to remind me, from time to time, of how much it hurts – I might forget how much I loved (love) you – and how much you loved (love) me.
And I think you know that you gave me so much to live for.