The Aftermath

Every storm has one. When the winds die down and the waters recede. The sun hasn't come out yet, it's cloudy and the sky is still gray. That period of time when you survey the damage, clear the wreckage, and think about rebuilding.

Some storms leave only minor damage. We patch up the holes, put in new windows, maybe slap on a fresh coat of paint. Others go out like a hurricane, and in their wake there is little to no trace of what stood there before. 

After every relationship comes the aftermath. It doesn't matter who ended it. It doesn't matter how it ended. Even people who remain the best of friends need to rebuild. We need to learn how to navigate the world, alone. We have to attend events and functions where we may not know anyone, and we don't have an automatic companion. We change our grocery lists. We shift our daily routines. We teach ourselves how to cook, or how to fix a broken toilet. We take out the garbage. We do the carpool. 

The days are long, but the nights are longer. No one tells you that there are times when you'll pick up the phone to make a call and realize that it's no longer your place. Or the times you want to forward a meme. When you've just finished reading a thought-provoking book and your thoughts are spilling all over the place and you have no one to share it with. When you've had a long day and your mind is in knots and the person who always untangled it is no longer YOUR person.

Some days are easy. Some days are just putting on a smile to patch the holes, and some makeup as a fresh coat of paint. Other days, the knowledge of what you're missing is so loud and so painful, you wonder how you'll ever get rid of the debris. 

No one warns you about grief.

They say that time heals all wounds, but the hole doesn't get smaller. We just reshape ourselves around it so that it's less visible. We make our lives bigger so the pain is smaller in proportion. But it never fully goes away. There are days you walk with an ache in your chest and you wonder if you'll ever breathe normally again. Two years later, you still want to say good night. You have big news and suddenly you find yourself dialing. Habit takes its time to die. 

And so we start again. We build something new. Not every house needs to be built the way it used to be; not every home needs to resemble its previous state. You won't ever be the same person you were, nor do you have to be. 

Step by step. One day at a time. Slow and steady. Breathe in, breathe out. All the cliches, on repeat. Whatever gets you through to the other side. 

No one promised it would be easy, this aftermath.

Breathe in.