Entering into my relationship with Mr. Wonderful, I was in a place in my life where I felt healthier and more independent than probably ever before. Maybe it was my age. Maybe it was the heartbreak before it that caused me to become so deeply grounded within myself and my own intuition. Maybe it was the therapy…Regardless of the cause, I was there—perched atop that place where I knew no matter what happened in my life, I would always be okay.
I remember talking to a girlfriend one night and telling her that even though I was crazy about him, I knew that if things didn’t work out, I’d be fine.
For a long time—even after I completely fell in love with him—I knew that life could go on without him.
I’m not sure when the shift occurred, but for lately I’ve been keenly aware of it. (Especially last night when I watching the animated film “Up.” What a tear-jerker. I highly recommend it to anyone who hasn’t yet seen it.)
I no longer think I could go on normally without him. I am officially terrified by the prospect of ever losing this man I love.
I don’t know if this is some sort of emotional aftermath from his being gone for 6 months. If the thought of semi-losing him again is just enough to put me over the edge now. Or if this is the path that all great love affairs go down eventually. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.
It scares me to feel so strongly—to feel so vulnerable. It pains me to even think of a life without him. The thought that something could happen to him…I’m really not sure I could recover. And that’s really, really frightening. Would I be forever broken?
The even scarier thing is, it’s only been 2 years. What must couples feel like after 20 years? Or 50? And if romantic love isn’t as intense as the bond between mother and child, how screwed am I going to be if I have kids?
It’s sort of funny that love even has this mildewy underside to it. It’s so hot and juicy that most people don’t pay attention to the condensation collecting beneath it, forming little fear spores. But oh when you stop and look…eek!
I think some spiritual teachers would tell me to practice the art of detachment. Realize that my life and self and bliss are not inextricably linked to this other person’s presence. But if we detach and free ourselves up from love and the fright of losing it, do we miss something in the process?
If Mr. Frederickson from “Up” hadn’t loved his wife so dearly, might he have lost out on the experience of landing softly where he did at the end of the film?
Maybe the terror is part of what makes it all so thrilling.