There are moments that will remind you that you are freshly single. A chicken breast will be in that moment.

See, I'm going to a wedding in three weeks. It's back in Wisconsin and it's for a friend that I have known for years. I got the invitation in the beginning of October and it was addressed to both Dave and myself.

I sent back the response card that we both would be attending and would enjoy the chicken breast.

And that's fine. It's cool. I had no idea all this was going to happen in the following weeks.

But then there is that second where you realize: "Holy crap. You are alone."

"You aren't alone." My brother says to me on the phone when I realize I have to either a) find a date to bring to this wedding to not waste a chicken or b) call the bride and let her know that I won't have a date which would lead to her asking why and then would lead to me telling her what happened which would totally be a weird thing to say to someone who is about to commit her life to someone else.

"But, I am."

"No. You're not. You have me."

I have a brother. A cool brother. A brother that is two years younger than me. We talk every day and we text just as often. We have that friendship people work so hard for with their college roommates or best friends from childhood. He says stupid things that I will laugh at because there is twenty three years of inside jokes that don't even need to be said aloud. He'll let me scream in to my phone when I'm mad at the world. He'll put me in my place when I get over dramatic ... just like now.

"I guess."

"B, you have me and you have tons of people."

And I know this. I have great people. If you even knew how many great people I have in my life... and who have helped me get through this and so many other things you would be asking me: "What the hell are you complaining about then?"

But it's not that I am complaining that I am alone. I'm complaining that my future is alone.

This wedding was something I just expected would be with Dave just like I expected moving in to my first house with him. Just like I expected going back to London to show him how much I love the city this upcoming winter. Just like I expected him at my next birthday and the birthday after that...

Everyday I am reminded that everything that was in order and good... things can fall a part.

But two years ago, before I lost my hero of a grandmother to cancer, I was sitting outside at dusk in her garden on a bench she had built out of old barn wood. It was quiet and summer and my bare feet were damp from the night wetness on the grass. She told me to look up at the stars. We both craned our necks to see the specs starting to poke through the almost dark purple sky. "When things were hard when I first moved to this country... when everything seemed so wrong and that I made a big mistake and I wanted to give up and fall apart I would look at the stars and start counting them and..."

I never got that. I never got why she didn't finish the sentence or tell me why she counted the stars--something so trivial. You could never count every star. It was impossible. What would that do?

But I get it now.

Sometimes things that are so impossible are the things that remind us there are some things we can never control. Wedding invitations. Heart break. Futures.

Especially futures.