March will come again

End of March.

Spring sunshine is welcomed by all. Big Bro, husband, Little Dude and I head into the backyard to romp. We pick wild berries. We relish the joy of grass on our toes after winter. We didn’t know we’d be facing one of the hottest summers in history. That the heat would burn us in more ways than one.

That day, seven months ago, was full of simple pleasures. We were together, enjoying the morning and one another.

I look at these pictures, see smiles, shining eyes, carefree poses.

Tonight I was facing a counter of dishes, a glass of wine, and a book. Two sleeping boys upstairs; finally my oldest went down, thank goodness. Loneliness took over. I was supposed to go out with friends, but husband has “the flu” and couldn’t stay to take care of the kids, leaving me, once more, on my own.

Husband has had the flu many times. I thought he had the flu once. Shaking and sweating on the couch, napping all day. Turns out, he was going through drug withdrawal. He didn’t tell me this until months later, when he was caught. Husband gave himself until yesterday to “start living the sober lifestyle.” And today? He stayed home from work sick. His stomach hurt, he said. He couldn’t stay to help because of “the flu.” But I know better. I’ve seen this before.

Tonight, I didn’t cajole, dig for clues, or give him a hard time.

This is a change. Detaching with love is something I’m working on.

I’m sick of being that wife. Nagging, suspicious. He’s probably coming off of something. Maybe he’s not.

It’s time to start living my own life. The question remains how? When?

I hate these lonely nights when I’m reminded of just how much room there is in my life. The kids go to sleep, and then it’s so quiet. No one with whom to share my bed, discuss my bitchy coworker, or share a glass of wine. Hell, no one even to fight with or fuss over. (let’s be honest about how I used to spend most of my nights)

No, tonight it is just me, my thoughts, and this blog.

I do treasure those moments, though, of baby toes in crisp blades of grass.

I will have another March. Someday. Just not tonight.


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