The Internet can be a cruel and unusual abyss of half-cocked opinions and bargain basement analysis, especially when it comes to Black wom...
Yesterday I almost cried as I rode down North Capitol, just about to cross R street. The thoughts had been with me since I walked out of the haven of my mother’s home, and onto the sidewalk that is part of the neighborhood that walking distance from the home I share with Him. The house across the street from my mother is “Under Contract” and it made me think back to the home ownership bug I was trying to put in His ear for consideration for our then-family. Standing there for a second longer than I’d like to admit, I realized, with a smile, that I hoped that bug stuck and He eventually (sooner rather than later) got into that home for His now-family. Acceptance. The seconds following that waivered between being disappointed at having to limit my movements in the city and my communication with someone I once called friend, love(d) deeply, to hoping he’d finally move on getting that dog we talked about together. One of us should have it, and it probably won’t be me.
For some reason, that stretch brought tears nearly to the surface as I drive down North Capitol. They hovered close, like a mother watching over her children, as I crossed Michigan Ave. I wasn’t actively fighting them back, just concerned that if they fell, I wouldn’t be able to see the road clearly. When I crossed the intersection of North Cap and R streets, the tears almost got me down on the mat. As I crossed Florida Ave I noticed fireworks in the night sky. I later learned that they were a staple of baseball games on the home field. At that moment, though, they were a gift made just for me. Just like that, the tears retreated and I drove the rest of the way with something shy of a grin on my face.
Today I glimpsed the future. His name came up in conversation and I suddenly knew what His future held. Within the next year he will marry. And this chapter will close. Thank God. Finally. Acceptance. I wish Him the best, always have, and I can finally see past all of what I thought we were, what we actually were, and what we will never be. Hopefully, one day soon, I will also be able to let go of what I thought we were as the standard for what I want next; allowing me just to effin' want again at all.
They (you know who you are) told me a long time ago that cutting my ties to Him altogether would help me get to this place, though the place has been left for me to define and draw the boundaries. The point was just to get some. It has not, and still isn’t, easy, but I see the necessity of it and I’m thankful for finally making it here—where the listening is possible. My spirit is rebellious, don’t like to be told what to do, and so valuable time is wasted with me doing it my way. Le sigh…
I can’t tell Him I’m happy for him, but I am. I’m happy for us both. He no longer has to hold on just in case I was holding on. And I’m no longer holding on because I couldn’t think of what else I had left to hold on to, even when I was clear that what I was holding wasn’t actually worth anything or what I wanted. Acceptance.
Love is. Always. It simply changes shape. I love Him. Will always, as I continue to have love for anyone I’ve ever loved. It doesn’t mean we have to talk or see each other. Love doesn’t mean I have to return its calls or shout it out. I don’t have to listen to songs that remind me of it or pine over it. I don’t have to say its name or acknowledge it at all if I so choose. There’s no fun in that though. There’s no tenderness in that approach. No firsts or silly rituals built. My love for Him will not be in the way of my love for others. It can’t be. Acceptance.
First and foremost, that love canNOT get in the way of me loving me.
Watch me move.