(Confessions from a recovering codependent)
Have you ever watched somebody drown? Watched them kicking and screaming and splashing and waving? Did you jump in? Did you stand back as the waves crashed over them, over and over as they called out for you? Or did you wait for someone else, someone more qualified, to jump in?
A decade ago (how time flies), I used to live on Oahu, Hawaii. I had the privilege of living there for about 2 years in a 2 bedroom condo on the 40th floor with a breathtaking view of Pearl Harbor. I was 23 at the time. I remember walking into that condo and instantly falling in love. I just knew that was the place where I would spend my time while living in paradise. I lived in Hawaii immediately after I got out of the Marine Corps while accompanying the ex during his final tour. It seemed like a great idea. We had researched the units that had recently deployed and thought we picked the one least likely to deploy again during the short time that he had left on his contract. Boy were we wrong. He was immediately shipped off to Iraq and I spent the next 18 months living on the island alone.
This was one of those weekends. You know, the kind that makes you look forward to Monday morning. Yeah, one of those. When I woke up on Saturday morning I was motivated and encouraged. I had my weekend planned out to the minute. I was going to hit the gym, do some grocery shopping, buy a couple of gifts for a double birthday party the kids and I were going to later that day, and then pick up the boys from their dad’s place… all by 10am. I was that sure of myself.
And so I jumped out of bed, got dressed and headed to the gym. As-soon-as-I-put-my-car-into-park at the gym my phone dinged. The boys were ready to be picked up. I let out an enormous defeated sigh as I gathered up the shattered pieces of my heart from the bottom of my floorboard, shifted my car into drive and headed that way.