Flutter Revisited

My Butterfly came back. Again. Sort of.

After the crap that happened in June, I didn't think I'd ever hear from him again. Actually, I was certain I'd never hear from him again.

Good thing I ain't a betting woman, cuz I'd have lost on this one. He sent me an email on July 3rd, my first day back at work after my sick leave. It had the following subject line. Brackets are his, not mine.

(How do you spell the sound of a big, deep, heavy breath being expelled...?)

There I was, back at my desk after having missed a month of work, trying to sift through the disaster that was left for me, and that JERK had the nerve to write to me at 9AM on my FIRST DAY BACK. I was already OVERWHELMED. I didn't need that. What I needed was some clarity and focus.

Since my appendectomy, I've had what I like to call surgery-brain. My short term memory has been reduced to that of a gnat. I knew it was going to be difficult to maintain focus when I got back to the office. But then he had to go and blow that all to hell with an email.

And what an email it was. It was 1262 words (I counted) of remorse, rambling, explanations, sorrow, hurt, confusion and more remorse. It explained everything, yet nothing really. It was romantic and self loathing. It was shameful and arrogant. It was all things conflicted. But that is the nature of my Butterfly.

In all those words, the most important ones happened at the end.

I missed you.
I'm sorry.

And those are the words that sent me into a crying jag that ran me into the women's bathroom for 10 minutes. ON MY FIRST DAY BACK! The last time I was holed up in the loo was over a year ago, when my marriage was falling to pieces.

I called my DT to ask her opinion. She told me to send a Thanks-but-NO-thanks-have-a-nice-Life type email. I knew that was the right thing to do. I knew that if I forgave him, I'd be getting on the crazy train once more. I begged her to tell me what to say. She dictated, I typed verbatim. Click. Send. Done.

I received his response, "Is this goodbye then...?"

What do you think?

Of course not.

My smashed-to-smithereens heart said otherwise. I wrote him back. I wrote him all of the things I'd been holding in and squashing down over the last month. HOW dare he NOT visit me in the hospital? HOW dare he NOT call me before he left on his trip? HOW dare he slither back NOW? CAN'T he see how much I CARE about him?

I miss you too.

He asked me out for drinks the following evening. We spent 3 hours on a patio together. We spent the first 2 of those hours chit-chatting and catching up. "How was your trip?" "Great!" "How are you feeling?" "Much better now that the incisions are all healed up."

Blah, blah, blaaaaah.

I was staring him down for most of that conversation. I could see a combination of fear, shame and remorse in his eyes. I finally asked him "Are you actually going to talk to me?"

He looked at me and his whole face changed. He looked like he was going to cry. And then he started a 20 minute monologue that revisited the 1262 words he'd sent me the day before.

He was actually sorry. I could see it.

That's one thing I'd never seen in a man who has ever bothered to apologize. Most of them don't. They just slink away never to be heard from again. My ex-husband was always saying sorry. But he never meant it. I knew just by looking in his eyes that he was full of shit. And I would call him on it too, which would infuriate him. Truth hurts eh.

Butterfly wasn't full of shit. He was actually full of sorrow and regret. And that's when I decided to give him another chance.

I'm happy to say he's been making an effort. He has emailed me numerous times faithfully each and every day. We have seen each other about once a week (he wants to take things really sloooooow) and we are making plans that extend at least 2 weeks into the future.

I have hope in my heart. Which in itself, is already a wonderful gift. Hope is something I thought would be lost forever.

Let's see if this Butterfly can spread his wings and fly to me.