I feel like screaming into the rafters until my throat hurts. Except there are no rafters to speak of, so I suppose the plain white ceiling will have to suffice.
Just when I think I'm actually moving on--getting over him, healing, whatever you want to call it--I am proven wrong. Very, very wrong.
My family and I went to a Seahawks preseason game this evening. Football is his favorite sport, so I was already feeling a little blue about the whole thing. But then I found out that the Seahawks' opponents were the Minnesota Vikings. Double whammy. He loves the Vikings. My mind reverted to the last time I had gone to a Seahawks vs. Vikings game. He was with me. He sat next to me the whole time, and his enthusiasm was contagious. I discovered that I actually like watching football when I'm with someone who loves the game.
I sat in my season pass, fold-out seat and hardly watched the game. Caught up in remembering, I felt like crying, but knew I would look a tad ridiculous. Football is a happy sport after all. At least, it is when you're not bent on mourning the loss of someone special.
My sadness lingered as we left the stadium and maneuvered through the streets of Seattle to get to our car. I kept imagining what I would do if I saw him walking on one of the sidewalks. Would my heart beat painfully and my face flush brightly as I walked up to say hello? Would I unthinkingly rush up to him and throw my arms around his neck? Would I do nothing but stare, unable to comprehend that he is living and breathing and standing so near to me? Truthfully, I have no answer.
Yes, I miss him. Desperately. But I'm getting to a point where I'm sick of missing him. I don't want to miss someone who doesn't miss me. I want to go about my daily life without his name entering my brain even once. Occasional remembrances are fine, but thoughts of him every ten minutes are getting old.
I have a hard time understanding why I am so utterly devoted to him, when he has done almost nothing to deserve that devotion. Yes, he demonstrated tenderness and an ability to give incredible hugs that made me melt. He graciously shared deep, painful things with me, and I reciprocated to some extent. But, do these things warrant this fierce adoration I have for him? No. This is why I know he and I will not end up together. I want to adore the love of my life because I can see the love of Christ shining out from his eyes, not because I feel good when he and I touch or because we have amazing discussions. Those are important too, but not as important as seeing Christ in him.
There were moments where I could see Christ in him, but more often I saw despair, pessimism, apathy, and other things that did nothing but depress and inhibit me. I can't live like that. I'm only just now breaking free from that pattern, and I feel as if the old me is finally re-emerging.
I've found that there is an unquestionable sense of rightness in our relationship ending. Despite that peace, I miss him with an intensity that frequently leaves me in tears. I guess there's nothing abnormal about that.
Just when I think I'm actually moving on--getting over him, healing, whatever you want to call it--I am proven wrong. Very, very wrong.
My family and I went to a Seahawks preseason game this evening. Football is his favorite sport, so I was already feeling a little blue about the whole thing. But then I found out that the Seahawks' opponents were the Minnesota Vikings. Double whammy. He loves the Vikings. My mind reverted to the last time I had gone to a Seahawks vs. Vikings game. He was with me. He sat next to me the whole time, and his enthusiasm was contagious. I discovered that I actually like watching football when I'm with someone who loves the game.
I sat in my season pass, fold-out seat and hardly watched the game. Caught up in remembering, I felt like crying, but knew I would look a tad ridiculous. Football is a happy sport after all. At least, it is when you're not bent on mourning the loss of someone special.
My sadness lingered as we left the stadium and maneuvered through the streets of Seattle to get to our car. I kept imagining what I would do if I saw him walking on one of the sidewalks. Would my heart beat painfully and my face flush brightly as I walked up to say hello? Would I unthinkingly rush up to him and throw my arms around his neck? Would I do nothing but stare, unable to comprehend that he is living and breathing and standing so near to me? Truthfully, I have no answer.
Yes, I miss him. Desperately. But I'm getting to a point where I'm sick of missing him. I don't want to miss someone who doesn't miss me. I want to go about my daily life without his name entering my brain even once. Occasional remembrances are fine, but thoughts of him every ten minutes are getting old.
I have a hard time understanding why I am so utterly devoted to him, when he has done almost nothing to deserve that devotion. Yes, he demonstrated tenderness and an ability to give incredible hugs that made me melt. He graciously shared deep, painful things with me, and I reciprocated to some extent. But, do these things warrant this fierce adoration I have for him? No. This is why I know he and I will not end up together. I want to adore the love of my life because I can see the love of Christ shining out from his eyes, not because I feel good when he and I touch or because we have amazing discussions. Those are important too, but not as important as seeing Christ in him.
There were moments where I could see Christ in him, but more often I saw despair, pessimism, apathy, and other things that did nothing but depress and inhibit me. I can't live like that. I'm only just now breaking free from that pattern, and I feel as if the old me is finally re-emerging.
I've found that there is an unquestionable sense of rightness in our relationship ending. Despite that peace, I miss him with an intensity that frequently leaves me in tears. I guess there's nothing abnormal about that.
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