LUF2M

This morning I woke up after you'd left for work and found the note you left me on the coffee machine - the little man peeking over the fence with a balloon message "I'm ready when you are, just push the button." I notice your list on the table, all items crossed out with a highlighter. Looks like you remembered to take everything except the list itself and I giggle as I dash up the stairs to take a shower. That's going to drive you crazy because you won't have your list to use as another double-check.

I can feel a peripheral vision coming on and although I struggle against it, I can’t help but notice the rug on the stairs is missing, there’s spider webs on the window at the top of the stairs and there’s absolutely nothing in the bathroom except a tub, the toilet and a sink. The house feels deserted.

I refuse to acknowledge what I already suspect as I tentatively peek into your den. There’s nothing in there except an old wooden chair. I flick at the light switch but nothing happens.

The dream abruptly ends and I wake up crying.

I miss you terribly but there are days I miss you almost too much. I have no idea if this depth of grief after four years is normal or if, in fact, I’m actually sliding back into a deep depression.

Your teasing me of living with an older woman would have ended today as you would have finally reached my age. It is with a bittersweet emotion that I’d love to wrap my arms around your chest and wish you a happy birthday.

LUF2M
Mama Hagar.