Struggling To Speak

Once again I find myself struggling with words. My beloved parents called twice this weekend (all the way from West Africa--the glory that is Skype!) and even though I had all this STUFF stored up inside that I really wanted to spill, I found myself silent for long stretches, unable to express anything in speech.

This was a very lonely weekend. It was my first weekend completely alone. The children were with my husband. He didn't want me there, not really. And my brother was out of town at a young men's conference. So I was in an empty house, and as lovely and comforting as it is, with all the little touches of Mother around the place (those that haven't been tucked away in storage to avoid the depredations of Small Children), I could almost hear the echoes.

Thank God, sincerely, for my friends. I spent Friday evening with my dear sweet friend M. watching the wonderfully, stupidly funny Land of the Lost and laughing until my head hurt. I spent Saturday afternoon and night (all the way to morning--I overslept and missed church, even) over at my dear sweet friends C. and J.'s place, being comforted with a ham sandwich and then steak and potatoes, and then watching the (not-so-funny but okay) movie Paul Blart: Mall Cop, and then trying to stay awake to watch Ghostland but falling asleep instead on their very cushy, pillowy bed. Then Sunday evening I went out for dinner and dessert with my dear sweet friend K., and spent some time wandering around Walmart with her, delaying the return to my lonely attic suite. At least my brother was back, but it was late, so we didn't exactly socialize.

And I spent hours and hours on World of Warcraft working on the Exploring Achievement (if you don't play, don't worry about it--suffice it to say it's a great time-waster with no real purpose other than bragging rights). Oh, and I did do laundry. Which was so behind that I had no clean underwear, not even raggedy ones. Not that I have any of those.

I've been putting off finishing the move upstairs from the room on the second floor where I was staying when my parents were here. There are still all sorts of things scattered about in there. A part of me feels that if I do that, if I put everything where it belongs in that attic suite, that I am saying This is it. This is where I live. This is the end. I'm struggling to hang onto the vestiges of hope that somehow my marriage is not finished, that my husband will decide he does want to work it out and that he can love me after all. The thought that I may have lost him forever is so painful that my entire body aches with it.

It's not that I'd be entirely alone. My life is filled with people who love me and support me. I am so incredibly blessed. Everywhere I turn there are amazing gifts from God.

But there's a spot in my life that gapes like an agonizing abyss, one that is shaped specifically for one man. And so I ache, and I struggle to get any words past the swelling of tears and throat.