The only two sounds I hear are the dryer as the clothes tumble around in the heat, and the air conditioner, blowing so hard, trying to combat the stifling heat outside. I look toward the window, the bright sun causing shadows on the blinds, large wood stripes across the panes to keep things out. I would open them but more heat would come in. It’s so hot. I also see the occasional shimmery glint of the sun bounce off of a cobweb by the sill. I need to dust.
The television is off, I’ve just watched a few episodes of Stranger Things, by myself I might add. Even the dog is not here, off with his human brother and sisters, at their dad’s house this weekend. I do like how clean the living room stays when they are not here. It no longer resembles a frat house for tweens. But it’s really too quiet. Oh so quiet.
I check Facebook a lot. I am bored. I have plans later and I slept in but still, this day seems long. And the unrelenting heat makes me want to never leave this cool cocoon. There are plenty of other things I could be doing but sometimes just doing nothing is fine too. I still need time to heal. Sometimes I still cannot believe this is my life. I’m not supposed to be alone on a Friday night, without my kids especially. They are supposed to always be with me. I am their mother. We should be watching a movie after I popped some popcorn and poured melted butter all over the fluffy kernels. But it is not that way. Not this weekend anyway.
Sometimes it still does not make sense, but then of course it does if I think about it enough. But then it doesn’t again. Coming to grips with a life that was once the norm and has now ended, is pretty tough sometimes. Yes, there are inspirational quotes all over the place about renewal and new beginnings and strength and “you’ve got this”. But I wonder if I really do “got this”. It’s hard to get sometimes. It’s hard to believe even still… even almost a year later.
Words cannot always make things better. I try to distract myself with all kinds of things however, during this alone time, the uncertainty and bad feelings creep back in. I sit alone with my thoughts swirling around like flakes in a snowstorm, each one different and unique. The analogy ends there though, because not every one of them is beautiful or pure.
I broke a glass the other day in the kitchen and a small shard of glass did not get swept up. So I ended up cutting my foot two days later. I watched as the blood trickled down, onto the floor, no one around to hear the expletive that escaped easily from my mouth because of the quick, unexpected pain. Someone should be here, I think. But no one is. The pain subsided soon after I washed it and put on a bandaid. I was grateful it was me and not one of the kids to cut themselves. I will take all the pain for them. I will hold it or get rid of it. They are the ones I never wanted to put in pain. They are the ones I wish did not have to suffer.
They are doing well, though. I have to give them credit. I am doing pretty well too, but a broken family is not an easy thing. No matter how it happens or what form it takes, there’s going to be at least a little blood (metaphorically). There is going to be pain. It will subside with time, yes, but it will also linger and pop up at times when least expected.
I try to look at the bright side, like the fact that there are now an even number of us to ride roller coasters. And that left-overs are a good thing, instead of meaning my husband did not come home for dinner again tonight. Having the entire king-sized bed to myself is pretty grand, I will say. But of course I would give it all up for a healthy, mended marriage. Maybe someday I will have one…