last week that was more full than you could imagine (really...i'm not convinced you could have made this week up - although no one died...so that would have made it worse).
with emotional fragmentation beyond what i could imagine
Beth's last day at KG
surgery
drop Jodi (and intern) off at the airport
back to the hospital
Beth's last day up north
(this was 3 days)
makes it easy for me to employ my favorite coping mechanism.
denial.
this isn't happening.
i'm fine.
and then finally, last night, while doing the dishes after Beth, Sarah and I had our "last dinner" together - the tears come. "are you having a problem with your eyes" Beth lovingly hollers from the other room.
and then i wake up this morning thinking, "this isn't real" or more accurately, "i don't know what this reality is"
Beth has been away for extended periods before. she was gone for 6 months last year, and i think "oh, this will be like that"
but it won't.
i will come home this afternoon, and tonight to an empty apartment.
tomorrow morning i won't smell her coffee brewing (it's become a familiar wake-up call in the mornings).
no more poking my head into her room "hey beth..."
who will i send silly text messages to? when random funny things happen?
who will i call when something totally absurd and heart breaking happens and i just need to say it out loud to someone who will understand?
who will i sit with in the living room at the end of the day?
who will make fun of me when i start whining cause the internet isn't working right?
all the little moments.
that add up to sharing life with someone.
yes, there are big moments too.
few people are as well aquainted with my tears at Beth
few people read my heart like she does
few people call me to something better/new/further like she does
we have shared moments that should never have to be shared.
we have walked through trials that should not exist.
and we have laughed til we cried.
but what i will miss are the little moments.
i will miss Beth in the living room.
and the kitchen.
the little moments
that add up to life together.
and tomorrow we'll wake up and walk (bravely?) into our new worlds.
with emotional fragmentation beyond what i could imagine
Beth's last day at KG
surgery
drop Jodi (and intern) off at the airport
back to the hospital
Beth's last day up north
(this was 3 days)
makes it easy for me to employ my favorite coping mechanism.
denial.
this isn't happening.
i'm fine.
and then finally, last night, while doing the dishes after Beth, Sarah and I had our "last dinner" together - the tears come. "are you having a problem with your eyes" Beth lovingly hollers from the other room.
and then i wake up this morning thinking, "this isn't real" or more accurately, "i don't know what this reality is"
Beth has been away for extended periods before. she was gone for 6 months last year, and i think "oh, this will be like that"
but it won't.
i will come home this afternoon, and tonight to an empty apartment.
tomorrow morning i won't smell her coffee brewing (it's become a familiar wake-up call in the mornings).
no more poking my head into her room "hey beth..."
who will i send silly text messages to? when random funny things happen?
who will i call when something totally absurd and heart breaking happens and i just need to say it out loud to someone who will understand?
who will i sit with in the living room at the end of the day?
who will make fun of me when i start whining cause the internet isn't working right?
all the little moments.
that add up to sharing life with someone.
yes, there are big moments too.
few people are as well aquainted with my tears at Beth
few people read my heart like she does
few people call me to something better/new/further like she does
we have shared moments that should never have to be shared.
we have walked through trials that should not exist.
and we have laughed til we cried.
but what i will miss are the little moments.
i will miss Beth in the living room.
and the kitchen.
the little moments
that add up to life together.
and tomorrow we'll wake up and walk (bravely?) into our new worlds.
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