I told you so…

I was sitting at Panera with a really good friend discussing my present situation. She’s helping me figure out how to get rid of my house with the least collateral damage. We were catching up on all the activities currently going on in my life, talking through what my next moves are, joking about how graceful I am in pretty much every situation (in case you missed it, that reads as sarcasm), and generally just enjoying a great visit with a great girlfriend.

And then it happened.

She reached across the table, put her hand on mine and said, “Meg, I’m sorry to have to say this…but I told you so.”

And she gave me a huge smile.

And I smiled back.

Because she did tell me so. You ALL told me so.

It got better. Life got better.

I got better.

Stronger. Wiser. And dare I say, happier.

And not just happier, but actually happy.

Who knew that the steel in my spine would be able to handle this test? Well, apparently, you all did.

So I welcome each and every “I told you so” and wear it as a badge of honor. They mean that I’ve jumped another hurdle, survived another pothole, weathered another storm and come out whole on the other side.

 

Fresh Breath

Well, it’s been over a year since he moved out. The day after the super bowl was one year. I read somewhere that, much like surviving the first year of marriage, once you survive the first year of divorce things get easier. You aren’t as surprised by the differences that happen at the holidays. The anniversaries start to become dull and distant. I’ll have to let you know next year if that is the truth.

That day seems like just yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time. I can remember each detail like a snap shot, still feel the jagged whole in my heart, still remember fracturing into a billion pieces, and still remember the struggle to catch my breath as if my lungs may never fill with enough air again.

But lungs are funny organs. Slightly different than the heart…lungs can actually sprout new growth after damage. Meaning, not only can the size increase, but you can really grow new tissue to replace what has been lost.

And that is what I feel like I’ve been doing. I’ve been growing a new me. Granted, still a work in progress, but my friends aren’t breathing for me anymore. I am fully engaged in my own breaths. And the breaths are no longer for simple survival, they are for living life.

So, I continue to put one foot in front of the other. Continue to take my next breath. Continue to take care of all that needs to be taken care of. I just do it. And each day is slightly (just slightly, but still) better than the one before. So I’m looking forward to tomorrow and letting yesterday stay where it is.