“He’ll be back.”
That’s what the members of my family tell me after learning that I’m no longer with the guy they met earlier this year, the guy that dropped everything he was doing to travel with me 100 miles when my grandfather was in the hospital due to a serious heart condition. Yea, that’s how he was introduced to half of my family — the strong, support system of a grieving girlfriend.
But what they didn’t know was that for almost two years, we pretended. We created a wonderful façade of two beings growing together. We traveled. We dined. We celebrated. But we did these things (in my opinion) to keep up with the time spent. Around a year, we said the L word. And around a year and a half, he put his weekend on hold to comfort me as my grandmother, father, aunts, and cousins came together as my frail grandfather lied in that hospital room. Yea, it was all good when the cameras were rolling.
But honestly, we were far from ideal. We weren’t always that way, but we failed to fight for what we had in the beginning, thus creating an environment of passivity and maintainability. That led to the deterioration of what little relationship we had left and eventually having to tell my closest friends and family that we were dunzo.
So my family meant well. But even though the sentiment spoken should have provided some sort of hope and solace that my gallant former suitor would eventually come back around, I really don’t need it. To want him back would mean regaining a life of mediocrity was better than being single. And nah, I’m good.