If you do not understand your past you can not comprehend your present

There's been so many times in the past year that I stop and think "what a difference three (six, eight) months makes" as every day I realize just how much I have healed.

Until earlier this month when I asked the ex if he was unable to take his cat permanently (as he had led me to believe was the plan all along, I only knew otherwise because of a friend), could he at least take her for several months while I was moving some things around in my life. I elaboarated, wished him well, told him how happy I was to be feeling so whole and healed, how I wasn't angry, how I missed my friend, but understood, and that the cat was not a way to get back in to his life.

I waited a week for this response: I am unable to take the cat. I wish you luck in finding her a home. I am not whole or healed. I think it is best we remain nostalgic seperately.

Holy ton of bricks. The plate I was holding in my hand seemed to throw itself across the room and hit the wall. The blackberry clattered to the floor. The amount of rage that was coursing through my body was unbearable.

Every terrible word I could think of came to mind: pathetic, useless, irresponsible. And I wrote them all down. I told him why he hadn't healed, why he wasn't whole. I lashed out at him hiding from his past. But before I hit send I took a deep breath (and broke another bowl). And decided to sit on it.

When my father died I carried so very much anger around inside my heart. I raged because I could not tell him how I felt. Until one night I dreamt of him, I screamed, I ranted, I cried. And I woke up laughing. Finally I had said what I wanted to say and I could move on.

A week ago I dreamt of the ex, I looked him in the eye and told him exactly what I thought of his decision to leave me with all his memories, responsibilities (both financial and mammilian), his cowardly actions. I held his face and said "look, I need you to understand that I still wish you well even after all this, how can you have hardened yourself to your past like this." And he understood. And I awoke feeling once again pieced back together again. There is no need to say it to him.

Susan Piver makes reference in "The Wisdom of a Broken Heart" about how sometimes trying to speak to an ex is like throwing punches that never connect. Even though my punches had slowly turned into hugs, either way they would never connect. And I don't need them to anymore.

I saw his beautiful brother at Phish in Alpine Valley, after the mini heart explosion happened, we talked, with me constantly grabbing him for a hug, and it wasn't until I walked away and grabbed the cute boys hand that I realized it never occured to me to ask how the ex was. Its not that I didn't care, I wish him so much peace, I just no longer need to know.

Wow....