23. A Good Day
Today is a good day.
It’s amazing what a little clarity and a dramatic, Academy Award–level sob in bed can do for the soul. You know the kind. The one where you dramatically fling yourself into the pillows like a Victorian widow and ask the ceiling why life is the way it is. That kind. That sob? She worked overtime.
But honestly, I woke up this morning feeling...okay. Lighter, maybe. Because as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I think clarity really was the missing piece. I had been holding on so tightly — not just to the person, but to the maybe. To the silent “what if” humming beneath every interaction. And when you’re still wondering if someone might come back, you never really let them go. You just keep your hands open enough to catch them if they do.
But now I know. I finally, actually know.
And the knowing — while it stung at first — brought something I didn’t expect: peace.
Last night after the call, I texted C. I thanked him for calling. Told him I got the clarity I’d been looking for (for what felt like 47 years), reassured him I’d be okay, and said I actually really like the rhythm we’ve had the past few weeks — that I don’t want that to change. I told him not to start second-guessing his actions around me, because I’m good. Really. I'm not dissecting every side hug and forehead glance anymore like I’m preparing a case for the Supreme Court. The confusion is gone, and for that I’m grateful.
And look, letting go is rarely elegant. It’s not a tidy bow-tie kind of moment. It’s more like trying to detangle your headphones while they’re still in your bag — you don’t even know how they got that knotted, but now you’re elbows-deep in a mess you didn’t ask for. That was me. For weeks. But last night — for the first time — it felt like the cord finally came loose. I could breathe again.
Because here’s the truth: C was my person. I was just never his. And ouch. That sentence still hurts a little. But it’s also liberating. There’s nothing left to wonder about. Nothing left to hope for that isn’t mine to carry. And now, instead of walking around holding out my heart like a lost earring, I get to gently place it back in my own hands.
I’m healing. Slowly, yes. But today is a good day. Today the ache is quieter. The air feels clearer. My chest doesn’t feel quite so heavy. And there’s even enough emotional bandwidth in me now to make a joke or two, which, if you know me, is a very good sign.
Sure, there’s still a dull sadness where the love used to be. But it’s more like background noise now — a memory humming softly in the distance. And maybe that’s how you know you’re really healing. When the grief no longer screams. When the silence feels like freedom instead of fear.
At the end of the day, I know God’s holding me close. And honestly? I like His hugs better anyway.
- Cheesecake
