In a few hours, I’ll leave for the airport to pick Steve up. I can’t wait! I survived the week, but I’m so glad it wasn’t any longer.
And I’m not the only one. Our cat (and our neighbor’s cat – his best bud, bunkmate, and daily dinner guest) have protested their later morning breakfast times. They have no idea; they should be thrilled they had any food at all.
With my “alarm clock” gone, I barely made it to work on time each day; but I did, and so I’m kinda proud. And I even managed to remember to put the trash out on the right day and turn the thermostat down each morning when I left for work. Luckily, it rained a lot so I didn’t have to think about watering the flowers outside. I now have a greater appreciation for all the little things Steve does to keep our household functioning.
But don’t think all I did was mope about in his absence. I took full advantage of my week alone. I painted. I played the piano. I slept in on Saturday. And I had a leisurely time with the Lord, the way I wish it could be every day, with no end time in sight. After neglecting the painting and piano for years, my creativity pump needed some priming. I was rusty. Stiff. Nothing flowed. When I picked up my brushes on Saturday, I felt discouraged. Like I’d squandered my miniscule talents so long they’d completely dried up. But Sunday afternoon, it all started flowing. And it felt good. Creating art, to me, is a form of worshipping. I worshipped this weekend. Whether anyone else will appreciate the product of my artistry doesn’t really matter. I enjoyed expressing my heart and reflecting a smidgen of God’s boundless beauty.
And I missed my husband. I missed more than what he does. I missed him, my favorite person. I missed talking to him each day. I wished he’d been here to process together the news which stunned all of us: that Robin Williams, the kind man that everyone in the Bay Area claimed as our neighbor, had died in the little town we used to live in. (When I heard the news, my memory immediately took me to our youth group kids trick-or-treating at Robin’s house in Sea Cliff early one Halloween afternoon, knowing his custom to personally stand on his door step and hand out generous gifts – that year it was ipods – to the first 300 or so who showed up.)
Soon Steve will be home, where he belongs. And my world will return to the way it should be.