The drama unfolded at Memphis International Airport inside the compact Honda Civic I’d owned for seven years.
I shut the door, and with the windows rolled up against the July heat, I opened my mouth and screamed. I screamed as loud as I had ever screamed.
The man I loved, the one waiting for a plane, no longer wanted me. I had thought he was the one. He decided someone else was the one. She, too, had been at the airport. I screamed to release a wad of pain lodged in my gut.
The year was 2007. To add insult to injury, the event occurred a year and a week after my daddy’s death. Grief on top of grief.
What happened next illustrates an essential aspect of getting through a crisis, surviving something that rips out your heart.