Some conversations throughout a woman’s lifetime bear remarkable similarity. Just yesterday, I had a conversation with a man who, frankly I’d like to break up with. How, in my fifties could I still be going through this?

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

I have to admit, his dark eyes were brimming with compassion as he looked down at my tear soaked face. He reached behind him for a tissue, then gently dabbed each of my eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was low and soothing, and my head tilted towards him and into the comfort of the sound.

It was one of those summer days in Florida where dark clouds had held the sun hostage all day. The rain, unlike my tears, had been held at bay. It made for a thick, uncomfortable atmosphere, not unlike the aura in this room

From my chair, I looked at the floor to ceiling windows and imagined myself rising and careening through them, landing on the pavement seven stories below….mercifully dead. How much more could I endure? Continue reading →