She turned off "Letterman" and for a moment was temporarily blind. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she felt around for her robe and walked gingerly out of her bedroom and into the hallway. She stumbled, yawning, down the empty hallway past her daughter's room, and then past her son's room. Both of them were empty, dark, and cold; their inhabitants were gone for the night.
She opened the refrigerator and eyed some Chinese food from the night before, and then convinced herself to stay the course by settling for a cup of yogurt. She closed the fridge with a sigh and a forlorn look on her face. The impact of her situation hit her hardest at night. Her brain was still in high gear but there was nothing stimulating her to focus on anything else, so her thoughts drifted toward the depressive.
Opening the door to invite out the family dog, she noticed a slight chill in the air, and was happy for her warm robe. It was early December and "beginning to look a lot like Christmas" everywhere she went, except for her home. With no one there to decorate for, what was the use?
And owl hooted off in the distance and sharpened her gaze. She caught a shimmer of the bright moon reflecting off of the water and allowed her thoughts to take over. She was taken back to April, when he told her enough was enough and that he didn't want to argue in front of their daughter any more. He said he would make the call to their son who was in college if she would tell their high school senior living 5 feet down the hall. Neither child took it very well.
Neither did she. Nights were bad, but the work days were as well. It was a chore to see people at work, at lunch, or even on TV whom she knew were married. It was silly and self-absorbed, but she couldn't understand how all of these people could smile 24/7 while she was in such emotional pain.
She couldn't sleep in an empty bed. She couldn't cook for three. She couldn't make coffee for one. She couldn't go about daily life knowing that the man she loved had made a conscious choice to be away from her indefinitely. The one or two times a week he did come over, he was distant and cold. He spoke mainly with the kids about their goings-on and didn't want any attention or affection from her, even though she was more than willing to give it.
A squirrel somewhere up in a tree snapped a twig that snapped her back to reality. The emptiness of the house behind her was too big to comprehend. While the kids were only gone for the night on a visit to the son's university for a football game, she felt like everyone she loved was thousands of miles away.
She stood slowly and gazed out over the back yard her children and husband had once run around in with joyful voices and laughs: truly in love. The creak of the screen door was louder than she remembered and echoed throughout the whole of the house. The pat-pat-pat of her bare feet across the wooden floor alerted the dog to her presence. At least she would have a warm body in the bed with her tonight.
The tissue box on her nightstand would be active tonight, as a single, large tear fell from her eyes and to her sheets as she laid down. Turning to face a picture of her family, all together and smiling, she loving stroked the frame and whispered "I miss y'all".
She turned over and curled up into a little ball. Here laid a grown woman, truly afraid and truly alone. Who would hold her as she cried tonight?
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