I'm looking back over my self-therapy writings. A lot of my sadness and heartache came out in poetic form.

I didn't purposely set out to relate and examine my angst in verse, sometimes it just happened.

I wrote this about two months post-relationship and shortly after I became aware of the fact that it didn't have
to be over in his opinion. That made things even harder for me. I've never had to determine to end a relationship
with someone I still love.  If I 'broke up' with a boy, it was because I didn't like him anymore. If he 'broke' up with me, he didn't like me anymore.

I might still love or care for him, but no chance of reconciliation.

When my marriage ended, the love had been long deadened. No conflicting feelings or yearning for that person.

Mostly fear and anxiety regarding the new life to come.

So this has been a whole new experience knowing he isn't good for me and loving him anyway.

I miss you-has to be over.
No fear, no anxiety, I know it's over.
Just sadness and yearning.
The occasional tear.

Thinking of you less and less.
Sometimes an hour or two.
Happy for that.
The occasional smile.

So many things I love about you.
And not for the usual reasons.
I love who you aren't.
I love what you don't.
I love what you won't.
Just can't love what you do and who.

I want you-has to be over.
No touch, no closeness, I know it's over.
Just craving and feeling.
The occasional heat.

Could have you-has to be over.
Can't share, So-I know it's over.
Just mourning and grieving.
And occasional healing.  

I love my home.
I love my privacy and my freedom. To clean and rearrange all day or to do nothing all day.
To listen to CDs , radio, or be silent.
To watch what I want or not watch at all.
To play games on the computer.
To eat what I want and when I want and where.
Alex, Pat, Vanna and I have shared many a meal together.

I occasionally get restless but never lonely. Never wish for constant companionship. Never wish for live-in love. I can't imagine that kind of existence again. I'm glad I turned down that offer! Even though it was a deal-breaker and I miss him, seems like I would've been miserable. Better some heartache and tears than an untenable living situation in my own home.

I look around and see the table my mom bought for $2.00; round, oak, claw foot. The cupboard my dad made over 60 years ago. My step-mom's hutch, the books, pictures, yard-sale finds, tchotchkes collecting dust. The backsplash my whole family helped install. My little laundry nook under the stairs that my sisters and nephew painted blue. (lovely surprise of color)

All the trappings of my life.

I look around and I'm happy-always happy!

Getting better everyday.
It's over.

Yearning never stops.
It's over.

Missing his touch.
Over.

Try to ignore and just go on. Tell myself I'm lucky.
Dodging that bullet!

But once in awhile, just once in awhile.
I'm there in my head.

I breathe him in, my mouth on him, his mouth on me.
So close behind him, so close behind me.
Moving against him, flush from our dance.
He's kneeling over me-stretching my limb, mouth warm and wet.
On my toes, foot, leg.
More sensual, more moving,
Than anything I've known.

Never will be another him for me.

How could thirteen years have passed since 9/11? We all remember where we were, what we were doing, how we found out. We were unable to stop watching. We saw the second plane hitting the tower. We knew then that it couldn't have been an accident.

Most of us didn't know any of the victims, had never been to New York or D.C. or the field in Pennsylvania. But we cried and sobbed and mourned and grieved. They were people; men, women, children, unborn babies. Our people from our towns, our cities, our land, our world.

All humanity joined in sorrow. Unable to grasp the depth of hatred, the mindset of those whose joy and salvation is murder. Who serve a god rewarding the slaughter of 'innocents' and self.

I was able to visit the 9/11 memorial site several times during my N.Y. city visit. Even with the crowds present, it feels peaceful and solemn. Voices hushed, the soothing sounds and sight of rushing water. The beauty and simplicity of the names cut into the bronze plates. Eleven with the added phrase; "and her unborn child".

So much thought and care has gone into arranging the 2,983 names. Originally, they were to be randomly placed. Somehow developing the concept of "meaningful adjacencies", they paired co-workers, companies, organization affiliates, friends, relatives and recovery proximity. Over 1200 family requests were received and addressed.

As we stood by the south tower site, we noticed kids touching the water, feeling it's coolness. Our first thought-disapproval. Then my daughter suggested putting our hands in so "our skin cells will be part of the ever-flowing water and it will be part of us." With fingers immersed; we experienced immediate tears and emotional connection.  Nothing magical or mystical, just honoring and mourning the dead, and empathizing with families and friends who ever struggle with their loss.

In great or small ways we all do.