Finding Forty, Day 27; Prayers

I have a sick feeling in my stomach as I wake up this morning. Later today, I will pile the kids into the car and drive to my in laws house to leave them for a couple of days. I'm a tad worried about having another blowout, about driving all that way on my spare tire, but what really has me feeling ill is something else altogether.

Said in laws live in the same town as S. My odds of crossing paths with him randomly are about the same as me waking up tomorrow and looking like Heidi Klum. Just won't happen. But knowing how incredibly close I am, gives me a butterflyish, squeamish, sick, hopeful feeling in my stomach.

In the past, he'd know I was coming. Somehow, someway, we'd figure out a plan to see one another, even if only for 30 minutes. There was nothing glamorous or fabulous about those visits, other than the sheer happiness I felt about getting to see him in person.

For an all too short amount of time, we'd hug and laugh and kiss and talk and stare into each other's eyes, just trying to soak up every ounce of the other person's being.

Each time I'd see him, I would naively, foolishly tell myself, "Maybe today will be the day the veil is lifted and he sees you for who you really are."

It went on, "If you are just witty enough, just pretty enough, sexy enough, smart enough, smell good enough, he will see that you are the one he wants to be with."

Waiting in my car for him to drive up, I'd tousle my hair, put on a bit of lip gloss (but not too much because I didn't want to gross him out when we kissed), check my teeth in the mirror, tousle hair one more time. I'd sniff my armpits, make sure I smelled sweet (but not too sweet, couldn't have any lingering scents on him when he left), and check my appearance one more time.

Not once did I ever feel ugly when I prepared to see him. Not once did I ever question my ability to make him laugh, make him feel like the most wanted person on Earth, make him feel loved. As crazy as it sounds, I never even really questioned my sanity, my love for him and belief in us was that strong.

I always wanted each time to be THE time. As I'd drive away, tears streaming down my face, I'd pray that he wouldn't be able to make it through the rest of the day without me. I'd pray that he'd go home, look at his life and find a place for me in it. I'd pray that he would choose me, want me, that I would have finally been good enough.

And with every parting, I never was.

Tonight, I'll spend the night at Dallas' house and sleep on her couch like I do any time I spend the night. I used to see S on my way out of town, after leaving her house. We would text and sometimes even talk into the night, figuring out our plan for the next day. Tonight my phone will be right next to me, but it will sit silently. No texts will come, no emails, no plans to meet and see one another.

I'll cry, I'm sure. The million pieces of my broken heart will somehow find a way to splinter again, their slivers and shards piercing me, destroying me. Sleep will be elusive tonight.

Tomorrow, I'll rise, a full day ahead of me, get in my car and pray the spare holds out another day.

I'll look into my rearview mirror and see a girl I hardly know. Will I tousle my hair? Put lip gloss on my lips? Will I even care to look at all?

Probably not. Not being good enough does something to a soul, I fear something from which I'll never escape.

Whenever I finally head home, as I drive past all the places we used to meet, instead of praying for him, for us, I'll pray for me.