Plucking!

I have a habit of blurting out whatever is happening in my mind. Without regard to whether or not my companions have been privy to my inner monologue. So we can be talking about our favorite movies and I could all of a sudden ask about, say, a prostate exam. (Side note - I ask about it more than you would think. I don't really ever remember if I have one. At this point, the wasband would just hear that start of the question and say - no, you don't. It's 40 and every year. Thrilling to have to introduce that random knowledge gap to someone new.)

And the pluck is rarely related to what we were talking about. Not that I wasn't listening. I was. I was also thinking about 5 other things. It's how my brain works. I really am like a butterfly (the meaning of my name) or a hummingbird (my favorite) as I flit from thing to thing. I can sit and attend when needed. Please look at my ridiculous amounts of formal schooling and attendance in endless meetings. OK, maybe not the meetings. But I flit and move quickly from thought to thought.

Eventually, the wasband would just look at me and say - pluck. It was endearing. How he would honor who I am while also poking a little fun and letting me know that I was a bit in outer space. I guess that's the hard thing. The history there. That he knew me so well and now that person, sounding board, encyclopedia is gone. And for me, the person who I thought I knew better than anyone else now seems like a stranger.

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I am not alone in this. Others feel this way, too. Any break-up has shades of this. But maybe the longer together the richer the colors and the more stark the absence.