I miss him. But loving him means giving up a part of me. A part of me that desires a committed, meaningful, relationship with a man who shares more than my bed.
I remember the morning I woke up with the sheet tangled around my ankles. I was laying sideways across the mattress with my head hanging over the side of the bed. And no, I did not have a hangover. But it was obvious that being single had transformed me into a bed hog. I wrestled the comforter around the mattress and dug my socks out from under the blanket. I slipped my feet into my fuzzy slippers and threw my robe over my boxer shorts and tank top. I had been meaning to treat myself to some pretty lingerie but I talked myself out of it when I realized it would only make me think of the man I was missing in my life.
With one eye open, I stumbled to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and ran my hand back and forth through the cold water. I washed the goo from my eyes and then squirted a glob of thick paste on my toothbrush. Seconds later, I watched the white foam dribble down the corner of my mouth. The morning ritual of a single woman.
I grabbed the cup of black coffee off the counter, turned on the morning news, and poured over my emails. Then it hit me. The emotional gut punch. Without warning, I was forced to confront an overwhelming feeling of sadness and loneliness.
I missed him. I missed sharing the morning paper, watching the news, and kissing him on his way out the door. I missed his touch and his adventurous spirit. In his absence, I realized how much I truly loved him. But loving him meant giving up a part of me. A part of me that desired a committed, meaningful, relationship with a man who shared more than my bed.
I stared out the blank window, sipped my coffee, and pondered the future. After a while I said, “It is time to embrace this place.” I made a decision that morning. I determined I was not willing to settle for anything less than love, marriage, and commitment. And until my Mr. Right found me, I would embrace being single.