I am infinitely sad. It is physical. I hurt somewhere between my chest and my stomach where it is hollow.
My husband is only going home. I’m staying here alone, but I’ve been here many times by myself and I enjoy it. I know people, I know places, I have what I need.
And I am infinitely sad. Grey gloom is like a mist that refuses to lift.
I know this is more than his leaving.
It is relief after fear for my sister’s husband who was critically ill over Christmas. It is grief for my other sister whose husband has had a stroke and whose life is changing drastically and inexorably as she exhausts herself serving him, waiting to determine what her life will be. It is a renewed awakening to the lives of my friends who have lost husbands through death or divorce.
It is all of these feelings condensed into a few hours of my life as I live my terror of the unknown time and circumstances that will result in the next loss of someone I care for. Separation anxiety is for now, all-consuming.
I need a day or two. I’ll make my own memories here and occupy myself with all of the projects and thoughts that I planned for this time alone. I did plan it, after all.
And, of course, I know that my husband is at home. He’s at the other end of the phone line. He sends and receives emails.
I can be sad and know that for me there is an end to it.