Loss and Sadness

Something about this day has thrust me into sadness, a missing-John, missing-love, missing-having-someone-in-my-life kind of sadness.

Normally Frank calls me about 9:30 and asks if I'm hungry and would like to go to breakfast. Ten minutes later he turns into my yard in his cute little BMW Z3 with the top down, ball cap protecting his bald head, smile adorning his face. These calls and almost weekly breakfasts have become my impetus for hopping out of bed and into the shower on Sunday mornings, dressing attractively and being ready to ride at a moment's notice.

This morning he didn't call. Either some other filly made it out of the stable this morning, or his daughter (visiting from Seattle) took him out. In any event, I don't call him, as I can't stand the pain of rejection when he has other plans. I know it's not rejection — I know in a few days we'll share another meal together. But, all the same, I feel pain.

This morning it hit me especially hard. It's Father's Day. (Thank you, Hallmark, for infusing an otherwise normal Sunday with too many expectations.) I don't have a husband to make a fuss over or stepchildren arriving later for lunch. I can't run out to the kids' house and hug Tyler to tell him what a wonderful father he is and how proud I am of how he's embraced this role.

Two weeks from yesterday will mark nine years since John died. This Wednesday he would have been 69. We would have hosted a lovely dinner, with Tamara and Jeff and the grandsons, now 12 and almost-10. We would have marveled again, as we did frequently, how lucky we were to have found each other again. At least that's how it all plays out in the marriage in my mind.

But in reality I'm alone, with no one to turn to me upon awakening and ask, "How did you sleep?"

I long to belong. I long to have someone whom I know I can call and suggest, "Let's go get breakfast," without his responding, "Oh, I can't today. Maybe tomorrow."

I quit waiting for Frank's call at 10:00 and dished up some steel cut oats, tears welling up in my eyes and a tightness in my throat over the lack of someone with whom to do something so mundane as share breakfast.