October 24, 2017
Dear Cherished Heart,
“Don’t you miss him?” my mom asked me months ago.
“No,” I said and shook my head.
But my heart pulsed — Almost. Every. Day.
I miss the coming and going.
I miss having someone to bear witness to my life.
I miss the sweetness that used to exist between us.
I miss having someone to talk to about the kids.
Surprisingly, one of the hardest things is not to be tethered-together-by-technology. I know he is out there doing stuff and I have no link to him or to the kids when they are with him. (Of course he hasn’t changed his cell phone number! -but it’s no longer acceptable to text him every day and ask how he’s doing, or for that matter, what he’s up to.)
With alarming velocity I move between relevant and obsolete every week.
The volume of missing him has fluctuated over time, and other equally strong feelings flood in and replace this with that. But when the missing gets loud it reverberates off the inner edges of my skull and no other signal gets through. It is as if I have put my fingers in my ears—my inner voice becomes a flattened echo.
Maybe this is just another transition in a series of unplanned changes.
I underestimated the pain of letting go of our family home.
All seven of us lived there, though not all at once, as the oldest had started university when the last child arrived. But the walls held stories, and a few repaired holes; the floors supported us, and mapped the journey we’d been on together; and the ceiling created an umbrella that protected and contained us in the midst of struggle and chaos. We had built it all together.
I didn’t love our home even though it was spectacular. But, it provided a compass point to stretch out from and return to. It had fine bones and a solid foundation.
I feel so blessed now to have a new home—but I don’t know where the hell I am in relation to the lives we used to live. I feel lost. For weeks my car drove on auto-pilot and I found myself on familiar roads back to the “old” house again and again. The making of new pathways, finding new keys, and sustaining connections is way harder than I thought it would be.
Our house represented the cup in Yahtzee, and we—the dice—have been thrown end-over-end across the playing field.
Who will scoop the dice for the second and third rolls?
It is rare to throw a full house on the first try.