Thursday, December 6
I taught yoga this morning and felt like I was falling apart but eventually pulled it together. I rode Jack after class then visited my old riding buddy, Margo, who’d recently moved her horses from the barn where I keep Jack. Margo is seventy and married for the second time.
“My first husband broke my heart in the seventies,” Margo told me while we ate lunch. “Free love was the norm back then. My first husband, I really loved him. He started a relationship with another woman. I put up with it for a while, but it got to where I couldn’t take it anymore. I told him he had to choose. He chose the other woman. While we were getting divorced, I contemplated asking him to come back but I didn’t. He’s still married to that woman. They don’t have it easy. They don’t have any money. But I really loved him.”
Margo went silent. Her eyes got misty. She still loves her first husband. My heart ached for her. I took a deep breath and thought, I’m glad I’m not in love with JB. But if I had been, maybe things would have been different.
As I was laying in bed at night, JB texted.
“I'm back from LA,” JB wrote. “It was hard not coming home from the airport. I love you and miss you. I miss Tom. I just want to crawl under a rock and die when I think about all this.”