Midnight Mutterings | End of 30+ year romance

||| MIDNIGHT MUTTERINGS by JACKIE BATES |||

It began casually. ‘Just friends,’ you told your other friends. But there was a spark, even in the very beginning. You started getting excited, just a little, when you knew you’d be together. Nothing special. Nothing planned, really. You just showed up. Other people around. That’s how it was for the first couple of decades. You were together more and you talked less about it to your friends. It wasn’t exclusive. It’s never exclusive when you don’t talk to your friends. ‘It’s complicated,’ you mumbled. (It’s always ‘complicated.)

Then there were times, when you dressed a bit more carefully, made the effort. Made excuses to be together, then pretended it was just happenstance. You’d take something with you so it looked like you were busy. A book. Maybe a notebook, a journal. Sometimes you even wrote in it. A poem? Maybe you were an undiscovered poet. You ignored other people, even people you knew, liked. You didn’t make any new friends when you were together with your love.

Then, instead of every few months, it was every month, usually on a weekend. You looked forward to those times, even though it was never exclusive. Soon it was every week. More. You were smitten. Obsessed.

What were the best things about your meetings? The fact that it was a semi-secret was a big part of it. Worth it even if you had to admit most of it was in your head. Still, you couldn’t help exaggerating the significance of your time together to yourself. Not that you would tell your mother about it. She’d think you were halfway around the bend. Ask you if you were taking your vitamins.

But the good parts? You always went somewhere beautiful, sometimes spectacular. The air smelled fresher when you were together. Sometimes you brought along a special treat. Chocolate bark you made yourself. With roasted pumpkin seeds. You liked the idea of sharing. Sometimes there was a glass of wine. Not great wine. But somehow just right for the occasion.

Were there red flags? Sure. It was hard to see where this was going. Sometimes it was easy to see where it wasn’t going. It was routine, often disappointing. Still sometimes you’d be up in the night on the web, planning. Coordinating schedules. Getting really frustrated when your preferred times were different. When your love was just flat unavailable.

Still you hung on, hoping the fun would come back. Trying not to be disappointed when it seemed you were in a rut, always going to the same places, the same route to nowhere.

Then came Covid and things changed dramatically. It was harder to be spontaneous. You seemed to need a legitimate reason to get together. Maybe the risk wasn’t worth it. You had different standards of what it meant to stay safe. Then your love was late too often. Excuses grew thin. Sometimes there was a total no show without explanation. You couldn’t help thinking you were doing all the caring, the planning. All the hurting.

So you slowed down. Not that your love seemed to register your absence. Or cared at all.

You were growing older, You both had medical issues. Entire system failures. And your heart just wasn’t into it by now. You couldn’t fool yourself any more. You still ran into each other sometimes, but it wasn’t the same. At all.

You decided to take care of yourself. End things. You bought a boat. Goodbye ferry. No regrets. You had a good run while it lasted.