I had this thought last week. Maybe it is more accurately described as a feeling. Yes, I felt strongly, surely, deeply that I needed to have a talk with the Almost Ex.
This was momentous for me because I make it my policy not to talk to him. There have just been too many names called, accusations yelled, tears and toxicity to engage in what should be a simple exchange. Something changed, though, and it became clear to me that we needed a real and live conversation.
And so I called and asked and he agreed. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to say but I trusted that the words would come. I was nervous but I knew music and prayers and a talk with my parents would help get me through.
Then, as I was grabbing my purse and putting on lip gloss, the doorbell rang. My flowers arrived.
I took a moment to pull them from the box, carefully unwrap them and put them into a vase on my dining room table. I propped the card up next to the 24 blooms, reading over to myself three or four times, smiling at how the universe works.
A half-hour later, I was across the table with the Almost Ex, drinking Calm tea and asking him if we could come to some financial resolution together, if we could speak person to person rather than parties in a divorce.
That could have been enough but then the table where were sitting, talking the most humanely and with the most connection we have in a year-and-a-half, turned.
He said he acknowledged the pain and confusion he put me through a year ago. He apologized. He said he'd been thinking about since our awful court date. The court date when I yelled and he obviously heard me.
There is was, not everything and not enough, but there it was. One small moment of grace. All these months later.
We talked. We agreed. We have a plan. Now, we shall see what the universe delivers this time.