Forest rain gently wakes me. I slide the button on my phone and stretch my arms above my head and my feet wide in the queen’s size bed. No one’s feet rub against mine just before I turn them to the side and sit up and touch down on what used to be his side of the bed.
I take my time. Every morning is relatively the same, though often these days, I wake up in a different house. My day starts with coffee, not always the way I like it, but coffee at least. Sometimes, I have to let a dog out or feed a cat but they keep me company. For all my complaining about them when I had them, sometimes I miss my dogs’ friendly faces.
That’s one of the reasons why I do this now: dog/house-sitting. It lets me get a little puppy love. It allows me to “play house”; pretending that I’m not alone. It gets me out of the basement where I spend too much of my time.
My basement room is set up just the way I like it. Photos of my friends and family, paintings, soft lights, a big comfy bed with a heated mattress pad, scented candles, and my favorite books. These hug me like no man’s arms ever could. I can breathe. I can relax. I can feel like I am in my space. Just for me, no one else. I love my room. But sometimes, late at night, I remember what it was like to fall asleep beside someone and I miss it.
Moments sneak up on me. When I drive home from work and stop at the 4-way, sometimes it’s hard to make the left turn instead of going straight. Sometimes it’s hard not to pull up in that driveway in front of the pink stucco. Sometimes I miss those dogs barking hello as I push them back from the front door. When I’ve had a stressful day, I miss being able to vent while I make supper for us. I miss that big front room where couch cushions made a gymnastics event complete with big brother announcing the littles tumbling and climbing, triumphant at gold medal performances. Curling up downstairs in our little movie theatre, watching Harry Potter for the 50th time. Hours spent with lego or playdough and then the clean up after. Rearranging furniture yet again, just to try something new in a place we called home.
I’ve talked about this with my friends and my mom. Pages of my journal are dedicated to this question. What is it that I’m missing, really? Is it him or is it the idea of him? More importantly, is it the idea of what it could have been? Taylor’s words gut punch me sometimes: “I can go anywhere I want, just not home.”
Is it home I miss? But then, what was home? I remember saying many times that it was no longer my sanctuary. I think I even said it to him once, in an argument. Which I, of course, apologized for, even when I knew it was the truth. The kids were pretty much all gone, my youngest planned on leaving very soon, and I found it harder and harder to actually be home. I’d find excuses to stay away because I felt more and more alone there than I ever had.
Funny how things look when you take the rose-colored glasses off. Alone isn’t always what we think it is. You can be in a crowded room and feel terribly alone. You can be with someone who supposedly loves you and wants to spend time with you when he does nothing to prove that’s the case. Sitting beside him while he falls asleep watching what he wants to watch, eating what he wants to eat, waiting and wondering why it feels so alone.
Alone is no longer worrying about what someone else is doing, thinking or spending money on. It’s the peace I have when I can spend a few minutes with my youngest while he takes his time figuring out life in the slow, patient way he lives. Alone is deciding on a whim to visit the tall, smart, beautiful woman who used to be my little girl dreaming dreams that she now lives. It’s dropping by my son’s house and having my grandson climb up on my lap to show me his latest creation and I don’t have to share his grandparent love with anyone.
I have a painting that I asked for for Christmas years ago. It’s a woman, walking away in the rain down some misty street in a far away city. Her umbrella protects her as she moves through her world. I love that painting. He warned me about it, saying it was bad luck having a painting that depicts loneliness. It never meant that to me. I never thought about it as representing loneliness. Alone, yes, but not loneliness. Those are two different things. Oh, the foreshadowing…
I still have that painting and my roommate knew I loved it and she put it up for me. This spring, I painted my own version of that painting and called it, “The Beauty of Alone.” Both paintings have light and shadow, colors and darkness. That’s what alone has become for me.
There are times, even days at time, when being alone becomes lonely for me; but it’s never for long. My alone allows me to jump in the car and go on a crazy road trip adventure with the two people who have shown me what true love is. It allows me to spend 5 weeks at my parents’ farm this summer, in my happiest of places with the grass between my toes and reconnecting with the earth and my witchiest self. My alone means hours spent reading or sewing or gaming or doing absolutely nothing whenever I feel like it with no one to answer to about it.
The woman in the painting is me. I experience the world, visiting the darkness some days but always finding the light. Other days, the rain finds me curled up with a book or strolling to a cafe in a distant place. Home is wherever my heart takes me. It is with those I love and who truly love me back in any space we find ourselves in. Home is wherever I am, sharing who I am with those who see me and love me anyway.
You are home to me. I may be alone, but I’ll never be lonely. I am truly grateful and may I be that person for you too. <3 <3
....
lyrics are from Taylor's song: My Tears Ricochet
