Written at 5:37am, Friday January 25th, 2019:
Given the expedient fashion with which we managed to both get to and through the airport – checking bags and all – I’m already back at home.
We even lingered in the airport gift shop for a spell, wrinkling our noses at the horrid smell of perfumed, decorative soaps and delighting in the array of stuffed animals, in order to further delay parting ways at the security line.
It was me who made the call. “Okay,” I said, “it’s probably time.”
After a proper embrace, we headed in opposite directions. As I headed out, I glanced back 2-3 times and met his gaze doing the same each time.
And that was that.
I was outside, surrounded by the dark chill of early morning in Missoula – and he was inside, surrounded by bright artificial lighting, soon to take off sky high and land in short order in southern California, where I hope he will be cradled well for the next 3-months.
Over the past week, multiple times a day, I took inventory of the things I would miss about him while he was gone and also the things I would look forward to having a break from. But in the last day or two, the line between these categories grew increasingly blurry and I came to see that I would miss all of it. Even the stuff I really don’t like, such as cleaning up wads of chewing tobacco on the windowsill that serves as his nightstand.
I take solace in the truth of our situation, of the little thing that has happened in our being together for almost 20-years: because we resound in the graces of our interbeing nature, we are strong and strengthened both when we’re together and when we’re apart.
I reckon from here on out, until he returns in 3-months, the ol homestead will be in the same state of affairs when I come home each day as to when I left.
It was only 8-months ago I was preparing dinner each night for 3-4 people. In June, our household reduced to a steady 3. In November, we were whittled down to 2. And now, starting today, I am paired down to 1.
There are times when making plans is born from the need to not be alone and it serves only as a delay or distraction from something we would do well to tend to on our own, with love and mindful attention.
And then there are times when making plans is born from the desire to not be alone and it serves as a skillful means to rally joy, nourishment, and connection.
There are times to work with what is coming up and there are times to change the peg.
For me, right now, the latter is what’s in order. Tonight, I’m going out with a friend to see a play. Tomorrow night, I’ll venture out to see another friend’s band play. And on Sunday, I have plans to meet with two friends for lunch.
The more I stay in close contact and relationship with myself, the more I can see clearly which action to apply to my current reality that will be most skillful and kind.
Written at 10:30pm:
I just got home from a friend date to an empty house. Well, not really.
My cat came to greet me, which is one of the most delightful things he does.
When I come home, he wakes up, saunters into the living room and perches on the corner of the coffee table in arm’s reach of the front door.
It’s a real treat,
Now, as I pen this,
he is resting beside me in bed
as my sole companion,
purring like there is no tomorrow.
It’s a real treat,
Written at 5:24am, Saturday January 26th, 2019:
Given that it’s not uncommon that I wake up alone, with how often Mike doesn’t sleep well and transfers to the couch some time in the middle of the night, a tiny part of me thought he’d be there in the living room when I turned on the light.
He wasn’t there, of course. Though he did appear in a place I’d forgotten I’d put him. When I went to grab out some eggs for breakfast, there he was in the fridge, in the form of a can of Rockstar energy drink
I think my current situation involving my communication with sorrow over my husband’s departure, has much to do with the length of time he intends on being gone. Though I reckon I will find my homeostasis in due course, in the meantime I am working on making better acquaintance with this little thing called sadness.