This summer has turned out very different to how I expected. There were great plans and small, and very few of them have materialised, or taken the shape that they were supposed to. Coming to terms with that is a grieving process of its own.
The heart-wrenching thing about a relationship ending is that it’s not just the loss of the person for which you mourn; it’s also the loss of the myriad possibilities, the might-have-beens, the half-formed dreams you’d glimpsed and filed for later. It’s the loss of that ‘later’. Later ceases to be relevant. Instead you’re stuck in the now, trying and struggling and sometimes failing to just get on with things, with work, with basic everyday life. The future retreats to the distant shadowy nooks of your mind, unsure of itself, diminished by this loss. And you become afraid to approach it or engage it, to explore new openings and avenues. But that’s ok. It’s ok to focus on the present, on putting one foot in front of the other. On looking after yourself, and letting yourself cry if you need to, and wiping away the tears. On patching up, bit by bit, the gaping hole in your life.
Construction takes a lot longer than destruction; it’s a much more arduous process. It tests your patience and your endurance. And it may not look like you’re making much progress, but you keep going. What else is there to do?