I still put too much water in the kettle for just one cup of tea.
Yikes! The 403 highway is heavy for this time of day. I better go over into the High Occupancy Vehicle (HOV) lane. That one is really moving. Stop! You need two people in the car to do that.
I am setting two places at the table, but there is only one eating.
I wake up between 1:30 a.m. and 2 a.m. every night expecting to hear the new language I call Bertish. But I am met with silence. I turn around and I fall asleep again. Ah! That’s a difference and that is good. I need to sleep.
The book is engrossing but a glance at the clock tells me it is 7:10 a.m. I better put it down and get cracking as the personal support worker (PSW) is coming at 8 and it takes a while to get myself prepared for the day and my Bert ready for his daily routine. No, no, my Bert is not with me. There is no PSW on the way. You can read another chapter I tell myself but I don’t. Instead I get out of bed. I have not gotten used to indulging myself as yet.
I go into the laundry room. I want to separate the wash. I don’t have to as there is so little there in the hamper. They are all mine. I can wait another day or three before I have a full load.
One whole hour has passed and I have not heard: “I love you. You don’t know how much I love you. I love you from here and around the world 15 million times.” I do not utter a sigh nor think here we go again. I miss it now. Oh, how I miss that now.
The waitress brings the bill. I look at it and I wonder if she brought me the wrong one. I pause too long and she says: “Is something wrong?” I shake my head. “No, it is fine,” I answer. How do I explain that I am eating alone in a restaurant for the first time in a very long time? A bill for one seems so small. I want to see an amount for two. I give her a large tip. She smiles as she says thank you.
The yogurt my Bert loves is on special at our local grocery store. I begin to pick up a package of 12 small cartons. That is the size he has every morning at breakfast. I stop. I move along and pick up the one I like. I hurry from the store. My list is not complete. I have to sit in the car a while. I breathe. I drive the short distance home. Tomorrow I will finish the shopping.
I wonder when it will stop becoming ‘his side of the bed and his place at the table.’
I open the hall closet and his long metal shoehorn hangs there. There is a hitch in my breathing but I will not move it. I will not put it away. I cannot put anything else away. I have already put my heart away.
I need to get something from an accessibility outlet that will pull up the long zipper at the back of my favourite dress. My Bert took such pleasure in doing that simple task for me. He was my helper.
I wash one dinner plate, one fork, one spoon, one knife, one cup, one saucer, one glass, one bowl – one is such a lonely number.
The sunset is magnificent this evening. This was a ‘together thing’. Today I drew in the light and colours of the sunset, alone.
The Meander: Yes, I now recognize the sound, the many sounds of silence. Silence is loudest in lonesomeness. It is eloquent in emptiness.