I tried to sign the papers tonight. It was the second night in a row. Apparently it’s not as easy as it should be. Maybe that’s the intention but I know that it’s the right thing to do. At the right time. Finally. So I’ll keep trying.

A lot happens in 3 years. Or almost 3 years. But damn if 3 years doesn’t pass in a blur of madness.  It’s like I could describe every single day to you in detail but I also see it in a smudge of colors and emotions.

3 years. Wow.

Everyone says that once this is final I will feel relief. I’m not sure that is true. Maybe it will feel clear and blank. But relief? Nah. I’m not sure that word quite fits in this situation.

I came to the realization tonight that the majority of people in my daily life have only known me. Not us. What a strange realization to have. They know me with your last name but not you. And not me without you as part of my identity. What a strange, strange feeling to have when the old doesn’t fit and the current doesn’t either. Maybe I can start going by a single initial as my last name? Yeah, I’ve thought about it. But I’m pretty sure that won’t fly unless I suddenly become a rock star, which would also require me to learn how to play the guitar that’s been sitting still for over 10 years.

I also had the thought tonight that memories that used to be so vivid are now starting to fade and are hard to retrieve in my mind. I know that’s what happens as you heal and as time goes by. I’ve been there before. But the blankness feels so empty and I don’t like it.

                          

But I don’t really want to remember either. Remembering is too hard.

When P.F. died, I remember thinking that it consumed so much of our lives, so much of our daily thoughts, that eventually we were going to have to forget in order to move on. Not that we were forgetting him or his bright presence in our lives, but that we had to push it away enough from the forefront of our mind in order to continue surviving. And now, that’s where I am with the death of us. Do I love it? No. I never will. But to me you are no longer an option. How freeing! …and how very sad.

I recently heard about this new made up word "sonder." And you know I love me some words.

sonder- n.- the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

It’s fascinating to think that at this very moment, somewhere not far from here, you are living a life there at the very same time I’m living a life here. With people in your daily life that I don't know about and have never seen, but who know you well. And the separateness is ok. After accepting and unaccepting and accepting again, the sting has faded and it's ok.

Someone once said, “Never cut what you can untie.” I’d hate to see what our relationship rope looks like. Probably beaten and frayed and muddied all to hell, but damn if we didn’t try to untie the crap out of it between the insanity.

Oh, how insane it's been and soon, very soon, it’ll be completely untied.