Solitary Divinement

All day long I work in a department of over 300 people. People call me, e-mail me, drop by to ask questions, favors and sometimes just to chit-chat. It has been a real God-send in keeping me distracted. And everyone is so nice. I’m lucky in that respect.

Yesterday, everyone was gone by 4:00PM, so I sat in isolation from 4:00 until 5:00 trying to distract myself by doing some work, looking at new apartments, making phone calls. Work is a very lonely place on Friday at 4 when the entire floor empties out. That’s when it started.

First, it was just a feeling of emptiness, soon followed by my absolute certainty that everyone was either going home to their husbands, wives, family or partners. I began to think about Chris and what we might be doing if he was alive. The weather was perfect and he would have been so happy that the winter is finally gone for another year. And right about now he would have been wrapping up his last chemo treatment and being completely well. On a day like yesterday, I would have walked to Harvard Square after work and Chris would have met me, possibly on the Cambridge Common to finish the walk with me and go out to dinner where we would have toasted to his wellness, our love and a long, long life together. It would have been just as beautiful as every other time we were together. But that’s a fantasy, now.

I got on the train at South Station, as usual, and began the ride home. Once off the train, I sat for a while in Davis Square and did my homework for today’s field trip. It was really nice out and everyone was getting ice cream at J.P. Licks. That’s where Chris and I might have ended up that evening, too. When I finished reading, I began my walk home. That’s when the lump in my throat began to grow. A 10-minute walk seemed to take 2 hours as I fought to keep the tears inside. My steps slowed and I couldn’t seem to get there fast enough. About five minutes before I reached my apartment, the dam broke and I just wept all the way up my street. Once inside, I allowed it to come. It lasted for an hour and fifteen minutes this time. I must have needed it. I sat in the chair that Chris died in and curled up and just thought about him, about us, about cancer. I spoke to him, telling him all of the things I miss about him and loved about him and how I wish he could come back and then I just asked him to hold me over and over again. I talked to God, asking him to help me get through this and telling him that I don’t understand why this had to happen. I just let it come and keep coming all the while knowing that it was good and right and that this is what I was supposed to be doing this evening. I knew it was going to help me tremendously when it ended…if it ever ended.

Carol called shortly afterward and of course she could tell I was crying. I couldn’t hide it. It was impossible to breath in or out of my nose at that point. I’m sure I must have sounded like Rudolph after his father forced him to wear mud on his nose. Man, I don’t know what I would do without Carol, Robby or Meira. They each seem to step in or call or make me laugh just when I need them to. But last night it was Carol. I cried like a baby telling her that I think I have finally accepted that Chris is never coming back. It’s not that I thought he was…but I felt like he was. Last night some reality set in and I’m sure it’s not the last time that’s going to happen. Carol and I agreed that it was a good thing that she was unavailable to go out last night because I know that if I had plans, this breakdown would not have happened and it desperately needed to happen in order for me to push forward. By the end of our conversation, we were both laughing again. She invited me to come on a dog walk with her but I was spent and instead took a long hot bath, put on my pajamas and robe and just relaxed for the evening and really took care of myself.