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.
Paula dear, your honest, true, and deep feelings are so compelling. I pray the day will come in time when all those beautiful memories of your dear Bert will be foremost in your thoughts. What a love story! We know your story and we believe in you. One day at a time…
Thank you. I feel fortunate that I do have so many fantastic memories of our journey.
Ah Paula, such utter eloquence and composure you have when you write such words. I can literally hear your heart breaking, feel it breaking right through my screen.
I am amazed at your strength and sheer ability to write such heart breaking truths. Perhaps it’s therapeutic to write down ones feelings. I used to get comfort in that. Now I’m just too mentally tired to do it. My brain swirls with all my worry and concern and all the what if’s.
Then I look at you, and witness your courage, your strength and I am just in awe of it.
I understand the loneliness all too well. I wish I could offer some comforting words and say something to make to make it feel more bareable but I cant.
I too know the feeling of lonesomeness, just in a different way. I wish I knew how to cope with that and overcome it but I honestly dont. Should you figure it out, let me know. lol
I know one thing for sure, you will come out the other side even stronger than before. Believe in yourself, cause I sure do.
Sending warm hugs.
You lift me up when you write commentary like this. Thank you so much. I wish you can and will write down your own feelings. It is therapeutic. I know you are travelling a similar journey so it is helpful when you tell me that you believe I will come out the other side. Know that I believe in you too.
Oh Paula, you write so eloquently about your pain that I felt every moment for you. Sending you loving wishes of support.
Thank you. To see this coming from a writer like you lifts my spirit.
Such a blessing that you can find an outlet in writing, Paula. So Poignant! So poetic!
Will keep you in my prayers.
Thank you, Erma. It is a blessing. I cry and feel refreshed. I write and feel whole. It is my therapy. When I am at the bursting point I let it out by writing down my feelings. It is therapeutic.
Sorry for your pain Paula. Just remember you are not and never will be alone.
Love
Ettie
Ettie, my writing is my therapy but it is my friends who give the greatest support. I am grateful for that.
Thank you.
Tears… xoxo
Too many.
Wow. Very sad, very beautiful, Paula.
You see I have never had a Paula. You are among the lucky ones. You have had a lifetime of Bert. Something beautiful. Something to cherish. You will always have that with you.
I know that you can never get enough of this good thing. We understand and love you. It is hard.
The greater the love, the greater the pain. I can attest to that. Yet love in all its forms remains beautiful.
Yes, I am lucky. Thank you for this insightful comment.