The Meltdown

It has been one week since I kissed my husband goodbye in the parking lot of a Perkins, not sure the next time I will actually see him. One week later I finally worked up the will, guts and fortitude to clean my apartment and pack away his belongings.

So with a glass of wine in one hand and my music turned to an empowering mix of Florence and The Machine as well as some Crash Kings I started. In a way it was cathartic to put away the things that remind me of him, like his favorite hoodie. In another way the guilt and pain of putting it away started to wear at me.

Eventually I found myself all the way done until the bathroom. It was me sitting on the side of the tub, wine gone, having a staring match with a bottle of shower gel, one loofa and a razor. A freakin' bottle of shower gel. I lost. I held the shower gel bottle in my hand and wept.

I asked it, how could I just pack away my husband? How can I put in closets and cabinets all of his belongings that he left behind? How can I hide him away like this isn't his home too?

It was then that I realized just how absurd I was being. It was a bottle of shower gel, not my husband. Just because I'm putting it away for a while doesn't mean I'm sweeping Bart under the rug. I am allowed to live, not create a land that time forgot for a year until he comes home. I need to flourish and thrive in this time, not erect memorials.

So with a sigh I closed the loofa, razor and shower gel into the bathroom cabinet and closed the door on suffering in this place. It is ours and will remain that way. We have lived our lives in this apartment and will continue to do so, if it is from different parts of the world.

With love and gratitude,
Beka