The other day, I referred to Pat as my "late husband." A page turned, a chapter ended. I hope this is still the middle of the book because I have never liked sad endings.
I went out on a quasi-date with someone I did not really know well at all. It was odd - nice man, no chemistry whatsoever. In person, he looked too much like an old pastor of mine and it was unnerving. And the act of going out on this quasi-date made reality really dig its roots down. I came home and felt incredibly lonely. Incredible alone. As if my aloneness had been just a dream state that I was sure I would wake up from ...but this action was the proverbial slap upside the head that said, "You are awake, dummy! This is your reality."
And it is. I'm a widow. I'm alone. I have no one to curl up on bed with at night - if you don't count my dogs. No one to rub my shoulders, no shoulders to rub. No one who is putting the toilet paper on the roll backwards or forgetting to put the seat down.