Companionship

I’m sitting at my kitchen bistro table looking across at a mostly-empty chair. It’s got some clean laundry draped across the back because of course it does. I’m listening to men with guitars sing to me as I try to hydrate for another scorcher of a day. I’m reminiscing as Sunday morning brings back memories of Sundays past. Bryan and I could absolutely make the most of a weekend and I miss that sense of adventure with him. Want to go to Mr. Ed’s for breakfast? Yes. Want to go for a walk? Yes. Hey, there’s an open house a couple of streets over at 1pm, wanna go? Yep. Maybe our friends would like to meet out at Quirk, let’s text ’em. Okay, that sounds fun. Call Mary, see if she’d like to come over this week for quesadillas. Shifting, adapting, open to possibilities and serendipity wherever it might come. And doing that together. What absolute bliss.

Now, I do some of those things still. Sometimes I reach out to friends, family, loved ones to see if they’d like to join in, but they have lives and families and schedules I’m not privy to. My heart aches for the companionship I shared with my person. The ease with which we walked this earth was remarkable and so sweet.

Today, I’ll probably go for another walk before it gets stupid hot. I’ll water the garden and paint and listen to more music. Maybe this evening I’ll go get a scoop of salted licorice ice cream from the Pine Cone Creamery and listen to live music downtown. Maybe I’ll do laundry and grocery shopping. Maybe I’ll curl up on the couch and cry a little. The possibilities are endless and all of them without him.