Have you heard the old Neil Sedaka song, “Breaking Up is Hard to Do”? Allmusic.com describes it has “two minutes and sixteen seconds of pure pop magic”; an assessment I was in complete agreement with until it happened to me. The heartbreak of losing the girl of my dreams turned an otherwise enjoyable song into the melodramatic theme of my twenty-something tragedy.

I’m still not sure why it happened. We had it all, I thought. Sunday nights at the pizza shop, hours-long conversations on the couch, hopes and dreams for the future. I never saw the breakup coming; much like the tree that jumped in front of me just days after I got my driver’s license.

I guess the biggest heartbreak of that relationship was the way it ended. My girl decided to tell me in the parking lot after my brother’s wedding reception. What joy! Apparently she decided I was “too good” for her and as she spoke, her words fell on my stunned ears with all the grace of a sumo wrestler performing Swan Lake. Opening the door and exiting my truck she struck the final blow to my broken heart with the words, “I still love you.”

Then she was gone…..

In the days following I was convinced my sweetheart would come back. After all, I let her go just like that stupid poem says. But as the days turned into months I discovered there’s something even more heartbreaking than losing your girl – the realization she’s not returning. When it finally hit me I kissed Neil Sedaka goodbye, figuratively speaking of course, and decided to embrace the attitude of Clint Eastwood’s “Heartbreak Ridge.”

It was time to adapt; time to rise above my pathetic love life and secure the elusive objective of true love. I trained. I learned. I cleaned up my apartment.

And then one day there she was…sitting across the room in a pale-yellow prairie skirt and tastefully matching blouse, her blond locks cascading down to her shoulders. It was time to go into action. I reached down deep to pull up all my training, and a breath mint too, and headed her way. You can fill in the rest.

Matt Gerwitz, 44, pastor and free-lance writer

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