Overflow Parking

We had broken up in the overflow parking of a grocery store, A Real Canadian Superstore to be exact, just behind a Pizza Hut. And the first thing out of his mouth was, “Please don’t name the turkey after me.”

Not “Sorry, I cheated on you.” (With numerous people.) But “Please don’t name the turkey after me.” A family tradition where every Thanksgiving and Christmas, my family’s turkeys would be named after those who had wronged us. With three daughters, particularly the dating prowess of my eldest sister, there were turkey names aplenty. Once named, the turkey would then be stuffed by the name-er with a gusto and glee that was quite cathartic resulting in mouthwatering stuffing.

He made me promise not to name the turkey after him before we went back to our apartment, where he had been allowing his friends to stay. He promptly packed up and left me alone with a couple, who ended up staying for just over a week. Our interactions strained as they had known it was coming and had hoped to escape before he had.

Let’s fast forward for a moment. Although Thanksgiving (in Canada) was weeks away, the turkey name had already been called, but I did give the Christmas turkey its moniker. There is a Facebook picture of me stuffing a turkey still in existence and if you scroll over the turkey, it's simply tagged Kelly.

Yet, it wasn’t getting to name my first turkey that changed everything. It was while my groceries were coming down the belt at the same Superstore where we had broken up in its overflow parking lot. I will freely admit that I am a crier but not so much in public and my actual silent sobbing as I packed my groceries into a bin had nothing to do with the ‘where’ I currently was. It was because of who I was with.

My mother had traveled to help me assess the situation, from whether I could afford to stay in my apartment by myself to providing support in any way she could. The weekend was over and she was leaving to go back to my hometown. And for the first time in my life, I was going to be alone.

In full disclosure, until a year prior to this, I had been medicated for depression since I was fourteen years old. Five years of bouncing around medications with side effects ranging from extreme water weight gain to nightmares so terrifying I would wake up screaming. Although, if I think about it, I had probably suffered with it for a lot of my childhood. Eeyore had been my assigned Winnie the Pooh character growing up with my siblings.

My silent sobbing had my mother obviously worried about leaving me. But as we packed up my groceries, she turned to me and said, “Your sisters are worried you are not going to make it. They think you should come back home.” I assume she felt the same way and having been the person who had gotten me through my darkest times, it must have been heartbreaking for my mother to see me silently sobbing at a Superstore checkout.

But her words, her disclosure of my sisters essentially not believing in my ability to survive this break, sobered a part of me. Never before had I wanted to prove anyone wrong. To prove that I was capable. That I was stronger than they believed me to be.

I did not instantly stop sobbing, but I packed up my groceries and hugged my mom tight when she dropped me off. More tears inevitably watering the floral shirt she had been wearing.

I told her I was going to be okay. And I was. For the first time in my life, I ended up relying solely on myself. I found my own tiny basement apartment and a part-time job to supplement my student loan. I passed all my classes and made more friends than ever before. I had become free to be exactly who I wanted to be. To be my true self. No past to colour the glasses of those who I might meet.

The infamous 'they' say that heartbreak from your first love is the hardest. The one which stays with you for the rest of your days. That you never stop loving the person who was your first.

Looking back, I cannot help but wonder if I ever loved him in the first place? Not really. Not the love which is proclaimed about in poetry, songs and movies. Not the kind where the person makes you feel like you can be your authentic self with them. Or the softer moments where no words need to be exchange, no mind games played.

Back then, though, it felt like love. The break, painful.

But what I learned was a love for myself I had not experienced up until then. A love that defied other’s expectations as well as my own.