“The funeral is over, now it’s time he got back to normal.”
Twelve words. Twenty months, a string of insults, arguments and threats and in the end, after one more moment of weakness, what finally cleared my head was hearing Gary talking about a friend whose wife had died suddenly and unexpectedly just two weeks before, “The funeral is over, now it’s time he got back to normal.”
No compassion. No empathy. Just the steadfast resolute of the ignorant and inexperienced that life must go on as before even though the before no longer exists in the now. No thought to how life could possibly go on as normal when normal before was a wife that was alive. A wife that existed on this earth. No thought to how much his friend’s life had been ripped apart. No desire to even try and feel what he might be going through.
They were the words I needed. The self-absorbed, terrible brutal sex of the last time we saw each other hadn’t done the trick. His hand bruising my sternum as he pushed all his weight onto me, his fingers laced around my throat overpowering me, a sinister threat in the air. His insistence that he knew my body best, that he would do to my body as he wished. His hour-long rambling about himself, his life, his friends and his woes and wonders, while showing no interest in anything about me ~ none of that could convince me to stop feeling for him something I didn’t want to feel anymore but those twelve simple words that said so much more to me than the face value of them, stopped me in my tracks and severed the chain that fastened me to him. Finally. Thank God.
It’s not always the big moments that make us come around, to see sense and to let go and move on from things and people that aren’t right for us anymore. It’s sometimes the smallest whispers of twelve little words, maybe it’s five, maybe it’s twenty-two. Its number, irrelevant. Its impact, pertinent.
“It was so good that I bought a session for my sister-in-law as she’s had a bit of a hard time lately and she deserves some relaxation‘ ~ Twenty-six words gave me the kick I needed to leave Tom.
“No, you can listen to me being sick because you caused this. This is your fault!” ~ Sixteen words to let go of Phil.
“Me and your mum are splitting up and it’s all your fault.” ~ Twelve words that ensured that I never faltered when it came to leaving Greg.
“We were hammer claw fighting last night. It’s a mark from that, not a lovebite.” ~ Sixteen words for Danny.
Eighty-two words over the course of twenty-four years that have decided my fate for me. That’s all it takes. A few small words and life moves on to the next stage.