Service for One?

Another "first" for me has come and gone. I went to the local I-HOP the other night because I was in the mood for some breakfast food for dinner. Love breakfast for dinner, don't you?

No one told me how lonely eating by yourself could be. This, of course, wasn't the first time I had eaten alone at the I-HOP. But it was the first time I've eaten there without my husband being on this side of heaven.

Funny....a few months ago I would have relished the opportunity to consume a meal in peace. Savoring each bite and even putting off going home to face those tasks that often awaited me as a caretaker until the last possible moment. This has all changed now. I dread going home because of what DOESN'T await me any longer. Although our 22y/o daughter still resides in the home with me, the house still looms empty for me. Just knowing that my husband was there in some capacity apparently was all I needed to feel "normal". I always knew that no matter what my days held, John was at home waiting for me.

In the early years of our relationship that thought kept me coming home night after night. I never knew what was going to happen each evening. Would he be asleep? Would he be laying on the couch in front of the TV? Would he be outside under the hood of the car "tinkering"? It really didn't matter what he'd be doing. What mattered was that he was there. For 25 years, he was there day after long day. A smile on his face and a wisecrack on his tongue. What I wouldn't give to have that now.

The last 6 years weren't quite as unpredictable as the first 19. His illness relegated him to the same fate day in and day out. Sitting in that wheelchair trying to get back to his "pre-illness" self. It was a constant struggle for him. But I kept coming home. It got harder as the illness took it's toll on him. Saddened by his deterioration, it was hard to look him in the eye most days. I tried with every fiber of my being to treat him the same. I failed most of the time. How could I? He wasn't the same. I knew I was failing. He knew it too. My attempts were met with smiles sometimes and at other times with grumbles and groans. But I continued to talk with him just like he was a willing participant right up until the end. Creating, at times, the answers I thought he would give during a conversation. I knew him that well. I suspect I missed the mark on occasion. He never corrected me. His will was gone. He just existed at that point. My heart broke. I'm sure he heard it. I know I did. Then his broke for me and I heard that too.

Love is like that. One hurts for the other and ends up hurting themselves. We were blessed to feel this kind of love. It's a love that only happens for someone once in a lifetime. I've experienced that once in a lifetime love at a young age and now I have to get through what's left of my life knowing that I won't experience that again. It rings hollow but it's the path I've been put on and apparently I can travel that road. Alone. It's a personal journey. One that will heal and reveal.