Yay! A full night of uninterrupted sleep and finally it’s really raining. A drop in the temperature as September ends. You missed the entire month, but I missed most of it too. I sleepwalked through it.
Last night, as I sat across from Joy dining on salads at the Yard House, a bar/style restaurant in the mall- dark with large screens turned to sports I asked her if I seemed different to her.
“Of course, you are quiet. You are not moving through life with your usual energy, moving from moment to moment, propelled with enthusiasm . How could you be?”
I was once afraid that I would become this quiet, sad person. But at this moment, I can’t be anything else. In this full month without you, the first September without you, I have had to embrace the sadness. I was hoping that I could escape it but what was I thinking?
I have this ongoing agenda in my head- where do I live: apartment? house? new place?
It’s just a distraction. Right now I’m floating, weightless, without the focus of supporting you, us. Right now it doesn’t matter where what pillow I lay my head down on, but I’m going to believe it will matter again but just not now.
Accepting the reality that you aren’t coming back, forces me to accept that I’m on my own. A place I was happy to leave behind when we came together.
With a full night of sleep it’s easier to take on another day on my own.
These morning letters may be hard to read when I click publish and send them out to the world. I understand if my support out there can’t get through them but the act of writing offers me clarity at this most unsettling period of my life. Our 20 years together was the most vibrant 20 years of my life, and now I need to make sense of this abrupt silence that’s replaced it.
I’ve reaching for the phone to call my mom for the last 3 years. Now I reach for the phone and I’m ready to call you too.
“Are you coming?”
“I’ll be home in 20 minutes? Ready to get out for lunch?”