LifeFiles: Can Lynyrd Skynyrd Mend A Broken Heart?

One of my biggest fears in life is that one day, my wife, Rachel, will come to her senses and leave me:

HER: "Hey, I've been thinking -- what the heck have I been doing for the past five years?"
ME: "Huh?"
HER: "Seriously, this whole thing is like one of those really bad movies you see on cable when you're home sick with the flu -- the beautiful, intelligent girl and the aesthetically challenged doofus guy. It's really silly."
ME: "But ... you see my inner qualities, don't you?"
HER: "What inner qualities? Beer drinking is an inner quality? Watching rodeo on television does not make you cultured."
ME: "But I can almost always tell when a guy isn't going to be able to stay on the bull for a full eight seconds."
HER: "Nope. This relationship is over. You'll be sleeping in your pickup tonight. I'm going to keep all of your CDs."

Breakups are easily one of the more cruel aspects of the human experience. Due in part to my inexplicable love of Southern rock, I went through several of them before bumbling my way into Rachel's arms.

"I need to talk to you," is the way they always start out.

"About what?" you ask, your happy puppy tail wagging as you are led into the veterinarian's office to be put down.

"Just about ... something. Here, sit down next to me," they say.

Coincidentally, I have learned that this is pretty much the way things start out when you are being fired ("I need to talk to you after work"), which is why I have bottles of beer sitting on my desk. If and when I get the call, I'll be three sheets to the wind by the time they can shove the pink slip in my hand.

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But unlike an employer, that soon-to-be-former special someone doesn't cut you a check for all your unused vacation days. If you are lucky, you walk away with a hollow promise that the two of you will be friends.

In reality, the two of you will be as good friends as you are with the queen of England. And you'll be left alone to crumple on the floor like Nancy Kerrigan at the 1994 figure skating nationals screaming, "Why? Why? Why?"

Unfortunately, your emotion toward that person doesn't stop just because he or she wants it to. No matter how politely you ask, a tree won't stop growing; no matter how loudly and forcefully you command it not to, you can't stop a tornado from ripping apart your home; and no matter how delicately someone lets you down, they can't stop you from loving them.

And to make matters worse, more often than not, the person who has ripped out your heart and fed it to a dingo is exactly the same person that you would turn to into this sort of situation. Your erstwhile loved one was the person you would ask for support and understanding, and without her you feel as if you are standing on the back of a ship, smack dab in the middle of the north Atlantic, surrounded by darkness and cold.

So, you lock yourself into a room and listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd's greatest hits whilst writing poetry about the north Atlantic shipping trade.

Meanwhile, the world expects you to play it cool, as if your response to being dumped should have been (in French accent): "Ah, mon ami, I would bemoan my loss, but I am paralyzed by ennui. C'est la vie."

But really you feel like you are trapped in a closet with a swarm of angry hornets. And, and, and, aaaaaarrrrrgggghhh -- you're back to Nancy Kerrigan mode.

Some people who have been through this experience fear so much that it will happen again that they effectively ruin every future relationship. The pain of a break up is tremendous, and some people would rather never set sail again, never perform another salchow, than risk having their hearts broken.

But Kerrigan went on to earn a silver medal in the Olympics, and the Atlantic Ocean is a pretty heavily travelled route. There is yet-to-be-seen joy and happiness out there, somewhere, even after the person you loved so much has sent you packing.

The key to experiencing that joy is not focusing on the pain that could be around the corner. Tomorrow is no more easily controlled than love, but both can be ruined if you waste time worrying about them.

If you love someone today, and they love you today, there's nothing more you can ask for.

Chris Cope is married, with no children. His column appears every other Tuesday.