I went to college when I was seventeen and had roommates. I had a few false starts and at twenty got an apartment and lived alone. Well, I had Killer the eight pound poodle with me. Can I tell you something you may find difficult to believe?
I was never lonely.
Nope, not me. I loved living alone. I loved the solitude, and the quiet. I loved not sharing, and not being forced to speak. I loved my own messes, and my own cleaning solutions. I met my husband at 25 and we were married and living together when I was 27. I had seven years of living alone and loving it. I considered myself to be a an independent woman. I still do.
He left today for a ten day trip. My husband left around one this afternoon. At 9am I was crying into the pancake batter. It’s not so much that we can’t function without him, it’s that we don’t function well. My husband and I have reached a wonderful point in our marriage where we’re interdependent. I need him and he needs me, and some days it’s almost 50 – 50. Most days it isn’t. Most days he gives an awful lot more or I do, but every so often we’re hand in hand tackling the same amount of duties together.
I’ve got some projects to tackle, so I can make good use of my evenings. I’ll have a lot more time available as I won’t have to do his errands or iron his shirts, but I also won’t have someone to share dinner with. Someone to start the kids’ showers. I won’t have a husband who brings out the trash or carries the bins in from the curb. I don’t have him next to me right now, holding my hand loosely, and not asking me to talk. Because sometimes a really great marriage means you don’t have to talk all the time.
The kids are okay. Alexander cried twice today, and I know he wouldn’t have if my husband was here. Jane will be fine, but in three days she’ll start to fall apart. We know what to expect, we’ve done this before. I’m treading lightly with the kids, they’re extra helpful for me, and hopefully we will manage this with some amount of grace. Hopefully.