It was a warm, humid day in the mid-80s.  I dropped Hubby off at his lady friend’s house for a get-together.  Just as I drove away, I noticed he left his phone in the car, so I circled around to give it to him.  They were waiting on the front step, and she came with him “to see my henna.”  We had a nice chat.  It is lovely he’s found someone who is nice to him and I can interact with so well.  I went off to take my mother to lunch and tried not to think of Kris. 

Today was better, not so many associations with Kris as there were at the lake yesterday.  

My mind is filled with questions.  How do I shut that off?  I so want to know how his meeting went with the guy who might help him find a divorce lawyer, and whether the tomatoes turned red that he showed me a photo of “green but just about ready to turn,” and whether he left his new pierced earring in or took it out and… “the rest of the story.”  But like any saga, when it stops, it stops.  You wonder but have to move on knowing you’re not allowed to know that anymore. 

This is the hardest part for me.  I still look at names of men on my AM list from almost two years ago and wonder how they’re doing, if they found someone… so tough for me to stop caring.  I store up all this data to make them happy and to follow up and then… I have to stop.  Move on.  I will.  In time. 

I’m analyzing the differences in this relationship ending face-to-face compared with others that have faded into silence.  The discussion in-person was tough.  But now I know.  I am not left to wonder, other than he might change his mind, and have more of a “now what?” puzzle that I don’t have to solve soon but it’s out there.  So I am sticking with my preference to be told.  Silence stinks.