Nights are forever

I ended up running over to the local hospital on Friday, and received my first dose of the Moderna vaccine. Yes, I had an appointment for this coming Tuesday at a health department one county over (which I've now cancelled), but the hospital was doing vaccinations first-come, first-served, and it was rainy on Friday, which I (correctly) thought would mean a short line. Finally, Friday was a significant day: it was one year to the day from when I went into lockdown. Between setting foot inside a hospital for the first time since Doug died, and realizing that I'm now six weeks away from being able to hug people again, and realizing that I can start to think about moving forward with the plans I've been making... it was very emotional.

Yesterday was a good day. Put on my most badass Spotify playlist at max volume, and got to work early. Made a lot of progress around the house (there's still lots more to do, but progress is progress). Received the new perfume I'd ordered: I can't wear my old Vera Wang perfume now, because I wore that for Doug, and wearing it is just too painful (it's amazing, isn't it, how scents can trigger emotions?). Made revisions to my 10-minute play (and I've even had thoughts on how I could expand it to a full, two-act play). Bought a ticket to go to the Picasso exhibit at the Frist two weeks after my second dose of the vaccine. Cooked a yummy dinner. Went to sleep at a reasonable hour.

...And woke up at 4:00 AM (which is, of course, 3:00 AM thanks to the lunacy of Daylight Saving Time): something (or some things) was creeping through my back yard. I'm guessing wildlife rather than human, because A) Kellogg wasn't at all concerned by it and B) I heard the coyotes yelling just a few minutes later.

In The Before, waking up in the middle of the night wasn't a big deal, because I usually woke up with Doug pressed up against my back and his arm around me - between his arm holding me close and his gentle snoring (or, on a funny night, his mumbling incoherently in his sleep), I would contentedly drift back off almost immediately.

It's these moments that are the hardest; they're when I feel most alone. The happily single don't know this particular feeling; the coupled don't know it. But those of us in this shitty club know it all too well. There's nothing like that feeling when the person you love most pulls you a little closer in their sleep. And there's nothing like the realization that it's entirely likely you'll never get to have that feeling again.

I can keep busy all day. I can talk to people, and dance around my living room, and sing power anthems while I do housework, and watch TV, and cook, and write. I can get through the days, and even convince myself that I'm okay.

But the nights? They're a different story. There's no distracting myself from the fact that I'm still sleeping on my sofa. There's no distracting myself from the fact that, in the middle of the night, I have no one to hold me and love me back to sleep. And there's no denying the fact that I'm but a tangential presence to everyone who loves me. I'm not saying they don't love me - I know I'm fortunate enough to be loved by a whole lot of people. But none of them holds me while I sleep. None of them relies on me every day to eat with them, do chores around the house with them, or simply be with them.

The big, splashy, romantic events were nice, but they're not what I miss about being happily coupled. No, it's the small things that I miss the most: bringing him a cup of coffee in the morning; cooking dinner and seeing his reaction when he really liked what I'd made; going grocery shopping together; watching a ball game together; waking up in the middle of the night and feeling his arms around me.

I can find ways to deal with absolutely everything but the loneliness, and the loneliness is the hardest part. And it's the one part I can't control, because I can't just magically whip up a partner out of the Void.

I'm not a Janet, after all

I tried to go back to sleep, but after an hour it became really clear that it wasn't happening. So I got the coffee going, and now here I am, alone with my pets and my thoughts, trying to figure out how to fix a problem that I have no power to fix.

So I'll finish my coffee and hop on the elliptical to burn off some of the anger that's creeping in. And then I'll cook breakfast and spend the day happily and busily distracting myself from the reality that will make itself apparent again tonight.

The loneliness is the hardest part. And I don't think there's any healing that.