This weekend was all about family. Thanksgiving we had the entire family together, Friday we were together again for the afternoon and dinner and then again on Saturday morning for brunch. That is a lot of togetherness and you know what? I love it. I love spending time with my family.

The biggest thing my family does for me – they make me want to be a better woman. While my brothers pick on me for choices I’ve made I know its only because they want better for me. In the romance department, in the job department, in life in general. I have settled for less than I deserve for so long and they want better for me.

When we sit around and have conversation, it’s intelligent conversation. I forget how much that is lacking in my daily life. I don’t have anyone to discuss the market with, or politics with, or anything of any depth. I miss that. I love my friends and wouldn’t trade them from the world but I miss intelligent conversation in my daily life.

I am the only one in my family that doesn’t have a bachelor’s degree and several have been to grad school. Most of them have good jobs, jobs they enjoy, jobs that challenge them. I am the only one who is divorced and the “married ins” are all great and a wonderful addition to our family. I cannot imagine any of the men I’ve dated being able to sit at our table and carry a conversation with my family.

But not one member of my family looks down on me. Not one member of my family spurns me for the bad choices I’ve made. They love me unconditionally. And they make me want better for myself. They make me want to finish my bachelor’s and get a job that challenges me and find a man of great character and work harder and expect more. They inspire me. And this weekend I am thankful for them.

Since my split with ex I have traveled north for Thanksgiving. Two years ago the kids and I visited my grandmother, with most of the rest of my family. Last year it was just me and I spent some time with my brother in Boston before heading out to my grandmother’s house for the actual holiday.

So I suppose this is becoming a tradition for me.

To be honest I am pretty glad to be traveling. I just reach this point where I have to get out of town, I begin to suffocate in my small town. My escape to Boston could not be more timely.

First there is the long drive, about 11 hours. To some that may seem daunting. But to me it’s freeing. Nothing but me, the open road, my music and my thoughts. Oh and the kids but they are pretty used to road trips and are pros at packing a bag with stuff to keep themselves occupied.

Second there is the visit with family. I get to see my brothers, who I miss immensely. Plus I get to see my cousins and I love my cousins. Two of my cousins had babies this year, my aunt became a grandmother for the first time and got two within 4 months – she was beside herself this summer!!

Third there is my baby cousin. She is 17 but still we are incredibly close. We are going to go see New Moon.

Fourth there is the memory of my grandfather. He has been gone three and half years now and I miss him. Somehow standing in his home brings him closer, his memory closer.

I’m sure there are more reasons but you get the point. Tomorrow I will be in the land of the Red Sox! Just thinking about it makes the breathing easier.

It had been just more than a month since I had seen Bobby. I missed him.

So I sent the text message, “are you busy?” He responded immediately. I wanted so badly to see him but seeing him only makes things harder. An hour later, after two more text messages from him, I responded. He wasn’t home but he told me where to find the spare key. When he got home he started talking.

He has made changes in his life. Big ones. Positive ones. Changes I thought he would never make. And we talked about the changes and what they mean for us. Right now, nothing. We still cannot be together. He needs the changes to stick and I have to know the changes are real.

Finally I stood to go but he held on. And I couldn’t let go. Later that night when I rolled over to watch him sleep one thought overwhelmed me – “I could love you, if you let me.”

It has been three days since I walked out his door. Three days I have spent in tears. I miss him. That doesn’t change. I want to see him. That doesn’t change. I cannot be with him. This time I have hope, that may change.

Today my friend asked “do you love him?”

No. But I could.

I could.

And I’m not sure what scares me more, life with him or life without him.

One of the biggest things I worked on in therapy was cognitive reality. Basically the person I was in my head didn’t match my actions.

I would constantly say, “I’m weak.” And he would respond, “Do you get out of bed every morning? Go to work? Take care of your kids?” I did but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay in bed, I wanted to pull the covers over my head and drown in my pain. I wanted to start drinking in the morning and forget all my cares by noon. I wanted to give in to the depression that perpetually lurked in the shadows. My therapist would always ask, “But what do you DO?”

The reality was – no matter what I wanted to do – I still got out of bed in the morning. I didn’t just pull the covers over my head, I didn’t start drinking, I kept struggling against the current that threatened to pull me under. The me in my head didn’t match the me in reality.

These days I’m not questioning my strength, I question who I really am. I spent ten years in an unhealthy marriage, the real me got lost. For two years I’ve been looking for her.

Since leaving my ex I have come to depend on my friends. I only have a few friends that survived my marriage. Some friendships I lost I have rekindled. And I have made new friends. Since my divorce I have come back out of my shell.

I love my friends but I live in constant fear that they will discover the “real me”, that I’m not really the person I’m “pretending” to be. Back to that cognitive reality thing, the person I really am is the person who holds her friends hair back while she’s puking. I really am the girl who works hard and gets good grades. I really am the mother who helps her kids with homework and volunteers up at school. It doesn’t matter that sometimes the still small voices in my head tell me I’m a fake, what matters is what I’m really doing.

What I have been doing is working on this post for the last week, I have written and rewritten. edited and deleted. Then this morning I read this post from my friend Melanie. And what I began to ask myself was, where do my still small voices come from. Where does this belief that I am a fake come from? The answer made me cry.

Ex. I loved him but he judged me unlovable and walked away. In reality I know that him leaving was him, not me. In reality I am so much better off without him. But sometimes, in my head I ask myself “why didn’t he love me?” And with that recognition I was forced to face the cognitive reality.

That just because I’m scared on the inside I still get out on the dance floor. I’m not that girl who sits in the corner, I’m the one out on the dance floor. I’m am lovable. I am THAT girl.

I care about him. As much as he has hurt me, as many times as we have tried walking away from each other, as much as I know he cannot be my future. I still cannot seem to say goodbye.

We were sitting on bar stools, side by side. Circumstances had drawn us together at a smokey little home town bar. Whispering and laughing, we sat with our heads together. And then he kissed me. Those old feelings, as much as I have tried to fight them, are not gone. I stood and walked toward the door, not looking back as he called. I couldn’t, walking away from him was already too hard.

I was lying in bed when I heard the familiar sound of his truck in my driveway just an hour later. I met him at the door but didn’t have the strenth to send him away. It feels right, to have him there, in my home, in my kitchen.

He opened my frig to find a beer that wasn’t his brand. It wasn’t his business whose it was but still he asked. There have been other guys, who have pressed their lips to mine but there hasn’t been another in my bed, in my heart.

He was sorry for the way he treated me, for the things he had done, I deserve much better. I listened to the words I had longed to hear. I didn’t respond, there was no response I could give. “Can we try again? Can we start dating again?” Again I kept silent. It was everything my heart wanted and nothing my head would let me take. ”Bobby…” He knew the answer, knew tonight would be all I could give and he kissed me.

In the morning, when he was gone, I cried. This man that holds my heart does not hold my future. I have come so far, I cannot go back but sometimes I forget and look back, just for a moment.

Today I said goodbye to a man I have admired since my youth. Charlie practically built my small towns little league program from the ground up. He served his country in the Army. He was a strong Christian, with a solid faith. He loved his family and he loved his wife.

The service was beautiful. People stood up to tell stories to attest to his character, his daughter in-law spoke of a man who loved.

Then they rolled pictures. And my tears began to roll.

There were pictures of him when he was younger, when he met his wife, when his children were little, when they got married, when his grandchildren were born. Throughout the show what I noticed the most, the genuine smile when he looked at his wife.

That is what strikes me. You can tell me how great his service to his country was, how great his contribution to society was, how much he loved his children and grandchildren. And that is all impressive. But what hits me, what really speaks to me -this man loved his wife.

They were married for 45 years and still he smiled when he looked at her. Their pastor told a story of waiting with Charlie during his wife’s major surgery several months ago. Charlie did not pass the time talking sports – he’s a baseball fanatic – or making small talk, he told the pastor about his wife. He told her stories about them when they were younger, about the kind of mother she was and finally he confessed, “she is my life, I cannot lose her.” He didn’t, instead she lost him, suddenly, with only a few weeks warning. Perhaps God knew it was Charlie who had to leave us first.

As a woman who walked into the service with a hurting heart, I left with hope that out there are men who know how to love. So thank you. You were a good man Charlie Brown.

My dear heart-

I know you are hurting. And so for that reason I won’t lecture. I will leave that for another day.

You are a hopeless romantic. You cry at sappy movies. You see the best in people. You trust until it is broken. You give until it is taken for granted. You hope for the best until the worst is realised. You see the glass half full.

And I wouldn’t change that about you. It makes you who you are. It makes you special.

That is the thing I want you to remember most. You are special. You are a catch. You are the mom who volunteers to be the room mom. You are the girl who makes friends with the bank teller. You are the girl who is sitting in the pew on Sunday morning, even if you’re sitting alone. You are the girl who your friends can depend on. You are the girl who hears music in her head and dances in the middle of the grocery store aisle. You are THAT girl.

My dear heart, trust yourself. When there are warning signs – heed them. When you see writing on the wall – read it. When you start to settle – remember where that got you last time.

Because heart, I do not want to see you broken again. I have seen the pain of true heart break. I know what it did to you, to us. I want so much for us. I want to be happy, both of us. I don’t want to be alone forever either but I’m also not willing to settle for anything less than someone who sees us for the special catch we are. I’m grateful we know the truth and can move on.

But for now I will just say I’m sorry you’re hurting my dear heart.

With warm regards,

The brains of this operation

We were alone, sitting on his couch, facing each other, talking. There was a pause in the conversation, the last words hung in the air and I knew he was going to reach for me. I closed my eyes and felt his lips press against mine. Then I felt his arms move around me to hold me. I waited to get swept into the kiss but it never happened.

I opened my eyes and watched him kissing me. His eyes closed. Still I felt nothing. Finally I broke the embrace and pulled back.

What was I doing here? Alone. With him. Months ago a call from him sent my heart aflutter. Weeks ago his kiss had the power to draw me in. Weeks ago I cooked in his kitchen and spent the night in his bed. But then he broke my heart.  

He still had the power to pull me in. Our texting had led me to his doorstep. As we talked what I realised is that I care about this man. I can accept him for who he is. I want him in my life. But as my friend.

  “We both need to move on.”

   ”You don’t mean that.”

   ”Bobby, I think we work best as friends. Don’t you?”

   ”Is that really all you want from me?”

   ”You aren’t ready to be the man I need. And I’m not ready to settle for anything else.”

We kept talking, about friends, about the kids, about life. He even tried again to move towards me but I dodged. It’s a funny thing, to actually see the realisation come across his face that his actions had finally pushed me far enough away he could no longer draw me back.

When I stood to leave, I kissed him quickly and walked away. This time he didn’t say ”I’ll call you” a promise he had no intention of keeping. And I no longer had any expectation, any question of “I wonder if he means it THIS time.” I had broken the pattern. I felt nothing in his kiss and that felt good.

You know when you are having one of those moments that you really, really want to write about on your blog. But you can’t because your stalker ex reads your blog.

Ummm… yes. Having one of those!

On a completely different subject. My post about Keith was less about him and more about me. Things with him are moving slowly and  that is a good thing.