#8

I moved out of the rental in Maryland yesterday. Packed up the car, the dog, and the huge peace lily your Aunt Jane gave me along with all the other detritus from my life up there and started the long, slow, journey back to the lake.

I’ve never dreaded coming home like I do. Maybe it’s not dread, really. It’s a feeling I don’t think there’s a word for. A simultaneous feeling of wanting to go but not wanting to get there. An irresistible pull toward this place while feeling the knot in my stomach about my arrival. And it was every bit a hollow and lonely as I expected. The loneliness is physically painful and ever present.

When I finally crawled into bed, bone-tired from all the work of moving out and cleaning today, I hugged your pillow and breathed you in. Your essence still here but your you so frustratingly and unbearably far away and unreachable.

I miss you

Luce

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#4

I’m sitting here next to a pile of your clean laundry, neatly folded, and no longer smelling like you. The knots are in my stomach again- feels like all the time, really. I just feel lost, sidelined, and apart from the world. Not quite in it and not quite out of it. All things being equal, I’d rather be with you in either place, but just together. It takes a lot of energy to be here without you.

It’s an absolutely stunning day on the lake- hot & sunny. And all I could think was how we’d have been out there early. Stocked up with w/a Yeti full of ice and cocktails, beers, and snacks with a plan for swimming up the dog and getting him back to the house if it got too hot for him. You’d pack the drinks, and I’d go behind you and add more because I never felt like you packed enough. We’d make a plan to meet up with our Lake Friends after they did their yard work and household chores- things we’d left undone. We’d have a whole day on the lake to ourselves before we met up with anyone and I always liked that. How we knew to focus on the fun first and get the living in- chores will always be there, but we took advantage of the sun and smooth waters when they presented themselves. I’m glad for that. Thank you.

I’m trying to stay focused on the things I know need to be done, but it’s hard. I need to call the credit card companies and tell them you’re dead. I need to find the marriage certificate so I can process the life insurance policy. I need to clean off your side of the bed- since I just keep adding clean laundry to it. I keep to my side at night and wake up wishing your leg would come over and touch mine as you stretch out. But it doesn’t. Never will again.

I miss you

Luce