Tidal Wave in a Loading Zone

August 4, 2025

Life is funny.

Funny—not funny.

One day, I’m picking blueberries with my family,

taking selfies with giant sunflowers,

laughing, feeling like myself again.

And the next morning,

I’m sitting in my truck at the airport loading zone,

pulling up to pick up my son,

and I unintentionally stop right behind him.

The man who hurt me more deeply than words can explain

is just… there.

Yards away.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t come near.

But eventually, he looked at me.

And for a moment, I thought I saw regret.

I thought I saw shame.

Or maybe that’s just what I wanted to see.

Maybe that’s what I need to believe—that somewhere inside,

he knows the depth of what he did.

That maybe,

what we had meant something to him too.

I don’t know what he felt.

I may never know.

But sitting there, in that breathless moment,

a tidal wave of heartbreak hit me anyway.

Because the truth is,

part of me wishes he would call.

That he would show up with courage and honesty in his heart and tongue.

That he would speak the words I will probably never hear:

“I know what I did. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

But that’s not the story I’m living.

And so I’m left to navigate the grief on my own.

The grief of not just losing who I thought he was,

but losing who we could have been

had he made different choices—honest, brave, real.

That’s a deeper, more complicated kind of heartbreak.

It’s not black and white.

It’s not villain and victim.

It’s the ache of having loved someone deeply,

and seeing, even now, the threads of human connection that still exist—

even if they’re frayed, toxic, and unspeakably sad.

It’s knowing I saw him.

Not the version he presented to me.

Not the man I hoped he could be.

But the man who stood yards away,

avoiding, turning, then looking back—

and in that look, everything was laid bare.

I saw the human I loved so deeply,

and who was brutal to me.

I saw the weight he carries,

the choices he made,

the parts of him that are frayed.

I saw his humanity.

And maybe—maybe—

he knew I saw him, too.

But the silence remains.

It doesn’t change what he did.

It doesn’t erase the harm.

But it makes the grief heavier.

Because it’s not just about what was lost.

It’s about what was never allowed to become.

That’s why today hurts.

That’s why I’m rattled.

Because this grief is not tidy.

It’s tangled, human, and brutally real.

And I will sit with it.

Because this grief isn’t meant to be solved.

It’s not just meant to be named.

It’s meant to be held—

with tenderness, with reverence, with the knowing

that I loved deeply.