I ran into the parents of a childhood friend last night while doing my parents' grocery shopping in WalMart. They told me that both of their children, the son (who was my friend) and daughter, have disowned them. I did not have the heart to ask why- their son disavowed me about a year ago, too. I don't understand that, either, although there's a probable cause I'm not going to discuss in a public forum. Rather than speculate, I'll just say that it hurts to have that knife protruding from my back; if he'd do this to his own parents, I've escaped with lesser injury by far. His mother said that she does not even know her grandson's name, and I could feel my chest tightening.
There are some parents who have that kind of thing coming- no, I don't mean mine by any stretch of the imagination, but here again, I'm going to defer this one for future comment. These people, to my knowledge, didn't; but they raised their children to be independent thinkers and survivors. My former friend and his sister have chosen, therefore, to be independent of their parents and to survive on their own. I cannot fathom it.
The other thing that this year has brought me is that some old heartaches never quite go away, nor will they be completely silenced. We have to take responsibility when we reopen those wounds, though. Third time's the charm; I cannot measure my worth against a heart that abandoned me a lifetime ago.
Also for the first time in many years, the Nashville Lawyer did not send me flowers. I think everyone on the staff half expected it- but I knew it had to end someday. He was the first man to send flowers to me at work for Valentine's Day, so I'm grateful that he kept me from being a complete failure in the Obvious Valentine's Day Gift category. I still marvel at how effectively he stole his own thunder the year we were dating and he sent me two dozen roses; he was so quick to make sure that I didn't read anything into it that, well, the giddiness was transient. Just a hint, gentlemen: don't tell the woman you're dating and to whom you have just sent a gift of two dozen roses that you paid a similar floral tribute to your elderly great aunt and your mother. While that shows how well brought-up you are, it ruins the gesture. It also makes the lady in question feel like an absolute fool.
Over the weekend, I heard from an ex who touches base at random every once in a great while...another of my admirers who thinks I'm swell, aside from my just not being worthy enough to date. Ugh.
I guess I'm not much for this holiday. It's never been particularly kind to me, so I suppose it's too late for me to revel in all the hearts and flowers that go with it. I'm kind of the Grinch in the pink sweater and heart-shaped pin, trying to force myself through the day. On that note, I have homework to finish for my online class, and then I have to decide whether or not I want to order a pizza. How's that for romanticism?