Every year for the past twelve years - I wait. I wait for November to come around. The 'wedding' anniversary. Then I wait again. I wait for March to come around. The 'it's over' telephone call anniversary. But between November and March I'm hit with December, January and February. It will occur to me out of the clear blue, 'hey, wait a minute - it's February, he's talking to her. January. 'Oh yeah, they're already together'. December. Ouch. How much longer before My November? I remember September, August, July. The empty house. Surely he brought her there. Twice I was leveled to my core being in there. My soul knew. Still, I hold onto November, because it's mine. Although, I'm pretty sure he squandered that day too. Then, I wait. For the memory to pass. For the air to come back to me. Usually it does. Sometimes, the recalling forces the realization that the deceit went way beyond that first November, twelve years back. Waiting. For what? For it to not be true. To stop hurting. To 'get over it'? The waiting is hell. Each month of the year has a distinct ache along with the remembering. Don't want to remember. Not sure I want to forget. Funny thing is, I don't even like him. Not even a little. It's not him that I'm remembering. It's the fake promise that I can't forget. You just don't mess with promises.
So here I sit. Waiting.
*Update: For the past two years, each of these months/dates have come and gone without my even noticing. Progress people! Progress. Can we have an Amen?! Yes, yes we can.
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