Sometimes, you can look outside and know that it is cold. The trees have lost most of their leaves, the sky is gray and distant, the sun leaves a more shallow glow than normal, and everything around just seems....cold.
The middle-aged man driving home from work one evening in December noticed all of these things, and sighed. A book could be written about all of the thoughts and unsaid words that were put into the feelings expressing that sigh. The steering wheel slid effortlessly through his fingers as he pulled into the still unfamiliar apartment complex and parked his Honda coupe for the evening. He wouldn't be going anywhere, and no one would be coming to him. He entered his apartment with these thoughts bouncing around in his head like a grenade dropped into a tank.
TV on the News. Shoes off. Computer on. Routine. No one to talk to, no one to ask how his day was, or to tell him about theirs. Just him and the walls that he called "home". Except really, he didn't. He called it "my apartment". Home. There was no home right now. Home had been invaded by 3 people he used to call his wife and children. Now he called them. Literally. His main contact with his 20 year old son, 17 year old high school senior daughter, and separated-from wife was his cell phone. He now knew what it must be like to have teenager hands. Always grasping for the phone. Noticing when the hands didn't feel the weight of the wireless communication device. Checking it every ten minutes for a text message or missed call from his son, daughter, or wife, whom he loved very dearly: all of them.
It was now 6 pm, and time for dinner. He walked out of the living room and right through the dining room in one step to get to the kitchen. He still knocked various body parts against various kitchen equipment as he got used to the confined spaces. The confined spaces in his apartment, heart, soul, and life. Everything was compartmentalized. Wake. Work. Lunch. More work. Drive. "Home". Sleep. No Church. "Family" when he could.
His phone buzzed in "vibrate" mode on the coffee table a few feet, and rooms, away and he nervously dropped everything to answer. Could this be an invite for dinner? Or the ball game?
"Missed you these last few days. Hope your trip was fun. Come see me. I love you," read the text from his son. A smile instantly grew across his face and he slowly replied "See U tonight".
The separated husband and father then jumped in his car, ready to see his son's smiling face. But he knew that he would still be perceived as an outsider, and treated as a guest by his wife. She tended to his every need, and he knew she was trying to make him want to come back. He couldn't do it. Not tonight. It was too stressful.
He called his wife and told her there was an emergency at work. He had to go in and tend to the night shift (he was head of psychology at mental hospital) and would not be able to "stop by" tonight. He knew his son was just shaking his head at his mom saying "That's ok then, hope to see you tomorrow".
The husband, father, and man trudged inside and laid down on the couch. He started singing songs he had once sung to his children out loud. He hummed the song that he and his wife danced to at their wedding, 23 years ago. The man went into his bedroom with 23 years of memories, and 7 months full of regrets.
He turned to a picture of his family on his bedside and stroked it lovingly.
"I miss y'all," he whispered as a single, giant, wet tear streamed down his face and fell on to his sheets. He rolled over on his mattress - mattress not a bed, and attempted to fall asleep. Alone.
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