#Blessed

When I walked out of the church on Christmas Eve, I already knew he wouldn't be there.  I guess I knew that morning when I sent a text message asking if we were still on for that afternoon.  I guess I knew two weeks before when I broke up with him the second time, and weeks before that, too.  I don't know why I even thought he'd come around.


We'd barely spoken since the most recent break up - only a couple of text messages about things like birthdays.  But then he'd won a free car detailing that I'd entered him in weeks before, and he thanked me, and I said you're welcome, and somehow a quick text exchange turned into a long, deep digital conversation.
He thought about me frequently and missed me. I meant so much to him.
He meant so much to me.
He felt like he was taking steps to get where he needed to be.
I was willing to endure us being apart now, if it meant we could be a stable couple later.
I wondered if he wanted to come to Christmas Eve mass at my church and then catch up over coffee afterwards.
He did want to come.  He thought he needed it.  He was hoping and planning to be there.  He wouldn't need to set a reminder in his phone; he would remember.  He was excited to see me.
I was excited to see him.


Fast forward to sitting in my car after mass, vacillating between tears and anger, as a fully-wrapped present for him sat in the trunk and a short text exchange from that day sat in my phone.
Were we still on for that afternoon?
No reply.
I would take his non-response as a no, and Merry Christmas.
His non-response didn't mean no.  But if he didn't end up coming, a merry Christmas to me, too.
That wasn't fair. I needed a decision. I needed to know what I would be doing in four hours.
He couldn't guarantee anything. If he made it, he would only say hello and merry Christmas.  Assume he couldn't make it.

I had let myself hope, as I had so many times before, but this time, I was done.  Fool me once, shame on me.  Fool me twice, shame on you.  Fool me three times, what the f* is wrong with you?  And what the f* is wrong with me?  How do I keep falling for this?

I left the church on Christmas Eve and drove straight to my parents' house.  I had told them that I would drive up to Baton Rouge later with my sister, and while I called to say not to leave without me, I half-hoped they already had.  I just wanted a couple of hours to lay on the couch, under the weighted blanket I'd bought for him, and let my anger melt into calm.  But then I walked into the living room, and there was my mom, checking her phone.

"Oh hello, beautiful," she said. "I thought you weren't coming until later."

"Yeah, my friend wasn't able to make it, after all."

"That's too bad.  I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"Did you get my message?"

"I was just about to listen to it."

"I was trying to see if I could ride up with you now, since I don't have to wait until later anymore."

An hour later, we all drove up together.  We had dinner with cousins and aunts and uncles.  We spent the night together at my grandmother's.  We ate pancakes and opened presents in the morning.  We had lunch in two different places.  We drove back in the late afternoon, sharing stories and singing along to the radio, before sitting in front of a Christmas Carol at my parents' house, tasting wines and playing a board game.  At 9pm, I said goodnight and merry Christmas and drove home.

There, I threw away the wrapping on his present, plugged in my long-dead phone, and laid under the weighted blanket.  Which it turns out wasn't all that comforting, since I don't have insomnia or crippling anxiety or undue amounts of stress in my life.  In truth, I actually felt pretty good despite the events of the day before.  Lonely, and a little sad, but good.  Because I am innumerably blessed.  I have a strong and supportive family that goes out of their way to make me feel loved and to show me that they're thinking of me.  I have friends who drop off candy on my doorstep because they know it'll make me happy, and friends who come on trips with me last-minute because boyfriends bail, and friends who venture out into the cold and rain because they want to buy me a drink on my birthday.  Friends and family, they all treat me even better than I deserve to be treated.  And this Christmas, as we celebrate once more the birth of Love incarnate, I can't think of a better gift than the reminder of what I suppose I knew all along: I am loved.


As for him, well, I wish him the best in life.  I hope things change for him and that he finally finds a way to be happy.  I hope he takes the steps he needs to in order to get himself straightened out.  I also hope the car that was stolen from his driveway a few hours after he stood me up resurfaces in good condition, but honestly, I don't really care.  I only wish I'd signed up someone else for that free car detailing.



[If you know someone that weighs at least 150 lbs and would benefit from a weighted blanket, shoot me a message.  I would love to give it to someone who would use it and appreciate it.]