searing loneliness

I will not be nominated for mother of the year, of that I am fairly certain.  Some days, like today, I listen to my responses to my kids and think "Really?!?!"  The parent I long to be and the one I currently am have very little in common.  The parent I was before 'this' and the parent I am now also seem to lack similarities. 

Last week on my run through Target I stopped momentarily to check my list at the end of the car seat aisle.  I overheard a very heated discussion, or berating, from a woman.  She said "Push the seat in.  You are not helping me.  Push.  Do you realize standing there chewing your gum does me no good.  What do you think you're doing?"  I looked up to see a very tired mom talking to a maybe 2nd grade boy.  In my quick analysis I saw she was wedding ring-less and had the look I see in the mirror each day.  Who knows what her real situation is but I wanted to walk over and give her a hug. I wanted to tell her, I know, it sucks, it's hard, we are tired.  Instead, when she made eye contact with me and I offered up a weak smile which she shrugged off probably thinking I was judging her previous conversation, not realizing I was instead connecting to that moment she was having.

At one point early in my relationship with Chris he began working nights for a month long stint.  He had not worked night shifts consistently at all in the previous year of our relationship.  Suddenly, I was a little excited to have the apartment to myself, to watch what I wanted, to lay on the couch and take a nap when I felt like it and just be lazy a bit.  That lasted about three nights before the loneliness set in.

Because my parents were able to stay with us much of the first 5 weeks following Chris' death it took longer for it to set in.  Instead I moved through anxiety and panic as I got used to my house again sans Chris.  The first night here alone I was excited to reclaim my space again.  I sat on the couch, surfed the Internet, watched TV, read a book....it felt slightly freeing.  Unfortunately, a few nights into it I felt it.  The searing loneliness.  I know, so many of you reading are saying "Call me Sabrina, it's OK."  If I could, I would.  In the end, what am I going to say?  I feel a lot of shame in calling someone to basically save me from myself.  Really it's not that I am longing for some deep conversation, I truly just want a warm body here.  I wouldn't ask 'you' to leave your home, your kids, your spouse to come sit in front of the television with me because I truly feel like you should all soak up every minute you have with them.  I found those hours with Chris invaluable.

Chris and I had several shows we watched together.  After we tag teamed bedtime routines and settled in we would watch a show, debate politics, discuss current events, laugh at Facebook, check out my blog, make plans for the next day, make a 'goody' run, pull the house back together, brainstorm ideas for vacations...we just talked.  I miss having another human being who is as invested in my life as I am.  I miss having real conversations with real people during those hours before bed.

Tonight the kids were both asleep in bed by 8:10 p.m.  I washed some dishes, watched a few minutes of Sister Wives, folded the last load of laundry, and wondered how weird it would be to talk aloud to my dog.  People do that, right?  I mean, I say things to my dog and cat but I don't carry on one sided conversations.  Then I realized, it's not really a substitute for a legitimate person.  Even my dog is not as invested in this family as I am. 

So, where does that leave me?  The past three nights the searing loneliness has been painful. I feel it in my chest.  As soon as I shut Maya's door and begin my descent to the living room I notice the heaviness set in.  It's a heaviness I have felt only two times in my life.  The first was the first three nights after we brought Owen home.  Things were going great but all three nights I woke up having a panic attack and had to wake Chris up.  He came downstairs with me and held me til things calmed.  The second time was the night after Chris died.  I slept very little.  After a very short nap I woke up feeling like I needed to escape my house.  My mom went for a 4 a.m. walk with me around the neighborhood.  Tonight, the heaviness isn't out of control like those previously mentioned nights.  It's present but I am prepared for it and find ways to calm and distract my mind and body.

In the end, it's one more thing to get used to.