A Christmas Severance
The urban deer of Shelby Bottoms stand unbothered by passersby. They may scoot over in reaction to sudden movements, but seldom more than a few hops. On Christmas Day, however, they rose surprised, as if they knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, at least not on my own. I usually spot a handful on my Shelby jogs, but this time I noticed no fewer than forty. They remained still as always, but locked eyes with me, recognizing my pain. I also trotted by six human pedestrians, most of whom met my gaze for a nanosecond, to which I responded with a two-fingered wave. The ones whose eyes never met mine wore sad faces like my own. I composed stories about why they too were alone on Christmas Day.
The hardest part of a breakup is stepping into suffering without the person to whom you normally turn in moments of hardship. It’s the cruel irony that the person who’s there for you in crisis is the very person you cannot contact. It’s that you severed a connection with the one whose connectedness had helped you endure previous pain.
Jogs improve in the rain, because the worst conditions for running are hot, so I welcomed the Christmas shower and 60 degrees. Worms either love or hate the rain; at the very least, it alters their behavior. The route through Shelby follows the Cumberland River, Nashville’s water source and cartographical anchor. On my Christmas jog, I noticed a dozen worms creeping across the pavement toward the river, only ever in the direction of the more abundant water. It’s as if, like me, these sightless creatures were leaning into their feelings, one-upping the puddles with a more powerful body.
The hardest part of a breakup is intentionally inflicting pain on the one you love most. Regardless of how certain you feel that it’s the best decision for your own wellbeing and theirs, certitude that fluctuates, you have chosen to hurt your close person. You hope they’re near other people to comfort them but so desperately want to sooth them yourself.
The hardest part of a breakup is the “lasts.” Before driving them to the airport, an abrupt bout of weeping inhibited me from approaching the door, knowing they were departing my house for the last time. They then sat in my car for the last time en route to BNA for the last time. We didn’t hold hands, meaning the day before had been the last time our fingers would interlace, and I noticed that.
The hardest part of breaking up on Christmas is the family group-text. My parents send updates from New Zealand where they’re living their best lives, leading a tour of Yanks, chipping away at their posse’s American ignorance one conversation at a time. My older brother’s four children continue to impress with their photos depicting respect and appreciation. My brother himself is the model parent, leaning in cross-eyed in the lighthearted version of their family portrait. My ex-wife sends greetings from her family’s celebration where my kids enjoy bliss with their cousins. My younger brother is a newborn parent, who, with his partner still healing from childbirth, had welcomed me to his home within an hour of my last goodbye lest I deteriorate alone. They were the only ones to know of my breakup until after the festivities concluded. This family of empaths would have joined in my suffering, and that’s not the Christmas gift I’d purchased.
The hardest part of a breakup is knowing that, in order for them to heal and move on, they might focus on your worst traits. Their friends will especially emphasize these shortcomings since it’s easier to villainize when they were never in love with you. Your ex’s ability to fall out of love with you may require hatred, or at least resentment. You hate to be hated, but accept this is what it is.
The hardest part of a long-distance-relationship breakup is the last two hours of the night before you go to sleep when you used to FaceTime. Your ex would often tuck you in, watching you with non-creepy affection as you drift to sleep, always staying up later in their west-coast time zone. It’s the texts that’d sustained your relationship by keeping you connected throughout the day when cohabitating couples can do so in person. It’s how the envelope emoji will never again be just that because it was couples-code for enveloping each other.
o o o
As a parent, you sometimes utter guidance you didn’t know you believed until it spills out, and which you may later need to fact-check. When my daughter once complained of boredom after I forbade screen time for the afternoon, I responded:
“When you don’t know what to do, do something you know is good for you.”
I’m still not sure I believe that’s always true as it overlooks that what is “good for you” differs between persons and contexts; avocados are good for you unless you’re allergic like I am. All the same, when waking up alone on Christmas Day, I welcomed the advice from my former self and ran for miles. I listened to comedy podcasts and watched comedy specials. I cleaned and folded laundry. I visited my movie theater. I drafted this. I tucked myself in early. And I didn’t drink. Instead of self-destruction, I nurtured myself with the tenderness I once reserved for my children.
Rarely do you feel yourself growing older as it’s happening, but the symptoms of my aging accentuate with lengthening hours of daylight halfway through winter. My crow’s feet deepen, not just the lines framing my face, but also my spirit. With every postponed sunset, I feel the light bleaching away the dead tissue from my soul, revealing a more vulnerable but wiser self. And finally, for the first time in recent memory, I’m fond of his company.
