How Have You Been Without Me, Dear?

How have you been without me, Dear?

I wanted counseling, you wanted out. We both wanted things to change, to be better.

Six years. It’s not a decade, or even a nice, round number. But it’s a lot. Over 300 Saturdays. Remember the one when we went boating with Jane and Matthew? I wanted to try water skiing and you said I should go for it and Matthew drove the boat so fast I thought I was going to die and when I fell in the water I almost lost my trunks and then we had burgers and beers and you got so sunburned Jane said you looked like a tomato. We made love that night. It was quick, because of your sunburn and my sore muscles, but afterward I held you and you smiled and I asked why you were smiling and you just said you were happy and I said I was, too. And I was.

Over 300 Sundays, too. Remember that one when the power went out during the church service? You said it was because even God thought pastor’s sermons were getting too dull and I said it was probably that old lady who didn’t like my tattoos coming back to haunt the place because her funeral had been that week and you told me that was too far but you couldn’t stop laughing but you wanted to be quiet so you were holding in your laughter and then you snorted in the dark and everyone was looking around to see who snorted. I still sit in that same pew at church. Alone. Almost every Sunday.

Over 300 Mondays, too. Remember it was a Monday when Jasmine was born? Your water broke outside on the deck and I was grilling stuffed porkchops and you said it was time and I didn’t know what to do with the porkchops so I threw them in the garbage and pulled the car out of the garage and we sped to the hospital and just a few hours later she was here and she had your eyes and I was scared and excited and I held her for the first time while I watched Monday Night Football on the hospital TV. I held her today. She asked about you. She’s so confused about all this. We both are.

How have you been without me, Dear? I don’t know how to be without you. I want 300 more Saturdays. 3,000 more. And we will dance and we will smile and we will fight and we will yell and we will cry and we will live and we will be. Us. Together. How have you been without me, Dear, when we are empty apart?