(Backstory: Gabe and I started dating three years ago. Gabe moved to Wisconsin from California to be with me, and has lived here for the past two years. Gabe and I broke up two months ago. We're still best buds. Gabe is now moving back to sunny CA in the beginning of November. I think that sufficiently sets the stage...action.)
Yesterday morning I went to the farmer's market--something Gabe and I did together nearly every week for the last three summers. He would buy baked goods from a cheery rosy-cheeked woman and I would peruse the perimeter in search of the perfect bouquet. We'd order Iced Thai Teas and giggle at the strange musical artist playing in the middle of the pavilion, throwing the crumpled cash we had left in the "tip" canister. It never got old.
But yesterday I was there. Alone. And the darn music began to play. It all came in a giant wave--just how very, very lonely I will be in just one month when Gabe is gone. How my family says that it feels strange now that he isn't around as much. How "candy" will no longer mysteriously appear on my refrigerator shopping list, that I'll be watching The Office by myself, and how the person who can always make me laugh, who keeps me honest and who knows exactly how loony I am and loves me regardless will permanently be two thousand miles away.
With raspberries and enormous bouquet in hand, I slid my sunglasses down, soggily headed back to my car and drove to Gabe's apartment...where I proceeded to fall apart. (I won't recount the event. I'm not an attractive sobber.)
Being the lovely gentleman that he is, Gabe wrapped me up in a giant bear hug, put on his shoes and took me back to the market, where he bought me the largest ice cream cone I've had in quite some time.
Rarely, rarely do I cry. Well, at least about my own life. I cry over movies, or about sadness in the lives of others. So, I still feel rattled by yesterday's massive tearshed. I'm at peace with being single and the end of our romantic relationship...I can't be upset about that. And I don't mean to throw myself a pity party--really and truly. But coming to terms with what all of this means for our friendship is leaving me a little watery and lost.
Are break-ups always this terrible? Maybe they're just terrible when they're with a wonderful person?