We drove up to Saskatoon on Saturday, but we didn't leave until after six, so we got there pretty late. I dropped M off at the apartment he'll be staying at, and then went to my friend's house. She had a pretty rough weekend, family-wise, so I stopped at a gelato place on the way. Gelato is way better than ice cream at fixing problems.
We stayed up late, talking, and then driving around, and I slept in her bed and she slept on the couch. She insisted. I was totally okay with the couch.
We went to her church in the morning, went out for lunch, met up with some of her friends who were in town for something else, and then went shopping. After that, around four, I met back up with my husband, spent some time with him, then went for dinner with my friend and husband. After dinner, I dropped M off, said goodbye and drove home.
It was a whirlwind of a weekend, and a blistering mix of happy and sad.
I was so happy to see my friend, I was happy to spend time with her, I was happy to see the friends M will be staying with, I was happy to shop at Lush, I was happy to eat at the two restaurants we went to.
And yet, there was this constant underlying sadness the whole weekend. Every time someone asked me what I was up to, what my plans were in Saskatoon, or when I was heading home, this cloud settled on my heart. I was going to go home alone, and crawl into bed alone.
When I met back up with M at the apartment, his room was filled with his things. His alarm clock was on this foreign nightstand. His shaving essentials were in the little cubby hole. His laptop was in the corner. It was the little things, the things that I didn't even realize were a large part of our home. It was the things that said "him" instead of "us" or "her". I knew when I went home, there would be gaping spaces in our room, our bathroom and his office. I knew that home would still feel like home, it would still be filled with our things, but there would be a giant piece missing. A ginormous, very important, irreplaceable piece. I sat on his new bed, staring at the pieces of him that littered this strange room with this strange bedspread. I wanted to scoop them all up, shove them in my car and drive home. I knew that M needed to stay, that he needs to go to school. I know that. I can accept that. But can't it just feel like he's home, or at least like he's going to come home?
|Why can't these be at home, with me?|
M packed up while I was at work, and then picked me up from work and we left. Which is why I didn't see the house minus him until after I got home. He packed up everything and loaded most of it up. He put Piper in her kennel, and then grabbed the last couple things and she let out a cry. She often cries when she's locked up, or when we leave, but this was a different kind of cry. So M went back and let her out, and she jumped up on him and gave him a hug, and then walked back in her kennel. She knew. She just knew.
So she was doubly happy when I came home. Although she kept looking out the window behind me. She has always loved him more than me, and I'm okay with that. She's his dog. Oh, and don't worry. She didn't spend the whole time in her kennel. We had our roommate, who usually camps out in the basement, camp out upstairs, so that Piper wouldn't be alone. She hung out with her all day, and took her outside and fed her.
I crawled into bed last night, and Piper hopped up on M's side. She slept on his pillow, at least until I fell asleep. I woke up several times throughout the night, and at one point, reached over to find M and snuggle into him. I was sadly disappointed to find an empty pillow. Piper had gotten up and moved, and I was completely alone. I woke up several more times, and found the same outcome every time. I've been away a few times since the last round of school, but M hasn't been away for a whole night since. I find it very sad and very alone. I keep reminding myself that it could be worse. My coworker's husband lives in Jamaica, and she flies down to see him every three months. I'll see M on Saturday. It'll be no time before then.