Kelly Smith~Signs in the Rear View Mirror. Intro to a Weekly Series…

Why is it you can see things so clearly while looking in the rear view mirror? Why is it you can’t see what is going on in front of your face, but it is clear as day when looking back on it? I have no answer for you, but I have a lot of experience with this. I have been looking back on the past five years a lot lately. Those past years have been sitting heavily on my mind a lot lately. They have weighed me down. I have been trying to figure out why.

As I have been living my life, breezing through my days, I have seen signs. Number signs. I have been seeing the three digits that have reminded me of him a lot lately, 916. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but then I began to see the sequence more and more. At work. Driving. In my living room. I was starting to think maybe it was a sign to reach out to him. To be with him. To care for him. But the other night while I was talking to my friend about the numbers and what I felt they may mean, she pointed out that they may be showing up because they are a reminder that you are where you belong. Wow. She was right. I didn’t think of it that way. Since that evening, I have not seen that number sequence. I sat with that conversation and decided to write about my relationship with someone I felt is a narcissist. I need to tell my story for anyone who is seeing number signs, street signs, or signs from above, to help them realize they are not signs of running back but signs of survival. Evidence of strength. Signs of being where you are supposed to be. And you are supposed to be free. I need to write to help friends and family of someone who feels they may be in a relationship with a Narc. I need to write for the person who is scared. Lonely. Confused. For the person who right now feels less than, because their partner is telling them by manipulation and they are starting to believe it.

 

I was at my house. The house my three sons and I moved into after their dad, and I divorced. The house was a split level. Upstairs was the oversized living room with floor to ceiling windows, up a few steps was the bar area leading into the dining room. A set of French doors leads to the back deck holding the grill and fire pit. Through another door off the dining room and a few steps down was the kitchen making an appearance straight from the 80’s. Around the corner, sat the master bedroom. Downstairs was a large living area and two bedrooms. My oldest son has his room while the younger two shared. While the kids and I were home and my ex-husband’s parents were visiting, my doorbell rang. Confused, I looked at my kids and went to the door.

Two women were at the door. As I looked them both over with many thoughts racing through my head, I noticed one had a smile splattered across her face with short brown hair and was on the heavier side. While the other one, the one that looked as if she were in charge, lacked a smile, had short black hair and looked as if she were in running shape. But it was her friendly eyes that some how put me at ease even after noticing the gun placed neatly on her hip. As I looked at the gun, the FBI on her blue jacket screamed for me to notice it, and I did.  After a short few seconds we had a brief intro and I was informed they wanted to discuss my then boyfriend Jake. As I let them in, leading them downstairs, I sent my young sons back upstairs to their grandparents.  I told all of them in a shaky voice with a sudden case of dry mouth, that they were there to help me redecorate the house. The kids ran for cover at the sound of anything girly and they left us alone to quietly have a private conversation.

 

Like I said, I have no idea why you can’t see the signs right in front of your face, or the two signs standing on your porch carry guns, but in the rearview, they are crystal clear.

 

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