I've been trying all day to figure out how to write this post without mentioning the origin of the sentiment, but it's not possible. This is my blog and I blog my life. But in fairness to the other party I'll be vague. Sort of.
I have just survived one of the most painful weekends of my life. Unfortunately the pain isn't over, but at least the weekend is. That sounds dramatic, I know, but it's true. Until recently I haven't dated since Matt's death. And if it were completely up to me I probably still wouldn't. But this guy just sort of...happened. He is cute, and charming, and funny, and smart--not to mention awesome with my boys, and did I say cute? Seriously dreamy blue eyes. I'm a sucker for laugh lines.
So we went out...and then we went out again...and again...and a few more 'agains'. And there were times when I knew it wasn't going to go anywhere but I wanted it to because he fit 19 of the 23 "Requirements for a Guy" as I have outlined in my Blackberry. Plus I said he's cute, remember? But as of this weekend we're not dating anymore...because I'll always belong to another man. His decision, not mine. I wish I could express how intensely painful it is to be rejected over something like that, something that will never go away, something over which I have no control, something he knew before he started dating me.
Saturday afternoon, right in the middle of the break-up, I went upstairs to get Seth after his nap. Right at the top of the stairs is a really beautiful, rather large picture of Matt. I crumbled in a heap on the floor and sobbed into my arms when I saw it. As mascara-stained tears soaked my sleeve I thought of how I had betrayed my deceased husband...for nothing...for a man who could never see past my circumstances to who I am and love me like Matt had. Or at all. I cried so hard that a pool of slimy, clear snot formed on my arm with a steady stream still connecting it to my nose.
About the time there was a break in the sobs, my dear sister walked in with Specimen #2. Sisters are good that way. So here it is, the All-American Chocolate Cake from Costco:
I cheered up just for a little bit. Sunday I spent most of the day crying again, and as I sacked out on the couch with a blanket and tissues I apologized to my kids for being a crappy mom. They insisted I'm not a crappy mom. "Really? What's not crappy about me?" I asked. "You gave us chocolate cake for dinner last night," they said, "and a crappy mom would never give their kids chocolate cake for dinner."