Lovesick

Some might call it an addiction, or weakness perhaps. Others could see it as a self-destructing behavior, an illness resembling sadism, inflicting self pain over and over again. The rest of you would call it insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I, on the other hand, I called it love. 

She lies awake, hearing the soft hum of his breath. The air escaping his lungs slowly whistling a sweet melody as it exits his body. If she concentrates hard enough, his breath is mesmerizing. Pulling her to and from shore like a wave. She reminds herself to cherish this moment, one day they won’t lie like this. Side by side, breath in and out. The sun is slowly showing itself, peeling back the dark. Soft light trickling in between the blinds. She takes a deep breath herself, bringing her self to shore and swiftly swings her legs off the bed to take root on the floor. Time to begin the day.

He’s grumpy today. Not many words are exchanged at breakfast. Thumping his mug down on the table like a gavel, avoiding conversation, barely answering her questions. Today like the others, she serves him. Hot tea how he likes it, a toasted English muffin, butter forming little pools in the flaky craters. As always, a bowl of fresh fruit and side of mixed greens dressed lightly in lemon juice is presented. With an unimpressed look plastered on his face, he gruffs at the healthy options, scolding her for going through the trouble of preparing, “that crap,” and opting for the butter drenched muffin and nothing else. After he finishes his breakfast he excuses himself for the bedroom. Of course, no thank you for the morning meal, no warm good morning. Just pure focus on his next to-do’s. He gives her a look that says both “get on with your day and stop hovering,” and “you can never leave.” 

She hears the water running. He’s showering and soon he will be getting dressed and ready to leave. She’ll have some time for herself, guilty looking forward to doing those simple things that make her feel human again. Precisely 6 hours she’ll have and they are planned to the minute. First, she’ll clean up the breakfast. Making sure the kitchen is spotless. The littlest things seem to set him off these days and conflict is something she’s avoiding like the plague. Once all the chores are done, a brand new novel is calling her name. She’ll dive into a rich love story that will fill her with a warm longing as she sips her rich cup of java on the back porch. Enjoying fresh air and stillness. But first, she has to get rid of him for the day. Her mind snaps those lustful thoughts away, back to reality. Back to this lonely reality that is her life

A car squeaks a stop in the driveway, the family dog stands at alert. His ride, their daughter Rosie, is here for their carpool. Rosie sweeps into the front door, quick, graceful, and efficient. Greeting her with a peck on the cheek, patting the family pup on the head, and beckoning for her father all in one fell swoop. He emerges from the master suite, dressed to the nines and ready for his day. He always did enjoy dressing for everyone else, putting his best foot forward for his life outside the house. While she stayed back, manning the ship, tending to all the chores a household brings that are often overlooked. Her eyes glaze over as she thinks of the years spent in the carpool, snack time, baseball games, school plays, the midnight oil burnt sewing Halloween costumes to be ready the next day for the school parties…it was all a blur at the moment, but seeing Rosie brings back these memories. She finds herself briefly longing for those days. The days when her two little ones adored her when he could at least pretend to tolerate her. Back when lovemaking was still a periodic occurrence, even if it meant they were exhausted or it was once a week wine drunk after a Saturday steak dinner at home. 

She snaps herself out of this daydream as he and Rose head for the door. He does not give her a warm goodbye, no thank you for the breakfast, or for seeing that his slacks were pressed for today. Rosie closes the door behind them, stealing a glance at her, giving her a warm knowing smile…almost saying, it will be okay. 

She finally finds herself alone. The sweet few hours she has been looking forward to. And while this her “special time,” she can’t help but feel anxious. Like a fish out of water, or a lost puppy. Not knowing where to begin now that she’s by herself. So much of her day revolves around him. With him gone, it’s like she loses a bit of herself. She brings herself back to reality again. The chores need tending to. Wouldn’t want him to be upset with her when he gets home…coming home to a house in “distress,” always irked him. She sweeps the floors, dusts, makes the bed, and does a load of laundry. While she goes about her housework, she falls into another lustful daydream. Thinking back on the early years. It’s these early memories that keep her going these days. Remembering how they were, how they started, how he once looked at her adoringly, held her hand warmly. Blink and life passed them by. The kindling that lit their fire is almost extinct. But thinking back on those early days, the passion, the feeling of being loved and wanted, it makes her warm inside. It reminds her of the life they’ve built. It gives her hope that somewhere under his cold demeanor, her lover is still there. She just hopes she can get a glimpse of him before it’s too late.

Weeks go by and she finds herself in a perpetual loop of sameness. Like groundhogs day it’s all the same. Wakeup, prepare breakfast, he’s hostile, he’s mean, he leaves. She daydreams, she cleans, she longs for the past, she’s reminded why she’s stayed. Evening, bedtime routines, she lies awake listening to his breath, dreaming of being held, hanging onto those memories. 

One day he comes home and the energy is different, warmer almost. Rosie walks him in and she invites their daughter to stay for dinner. Hopeful that Rosie’s presence at the dinner table will force him to make pleasant conversation, she’s delightfully surprised when he compliments her on the lasagna. Reaching for seconds even. She catches his eye at one point in the evening and almost notices a smile, the warmness is still there. This little bit he’s giving her is enough to reignite hope. Maybe he’s on his way back to her. 

After the dishes are cleared, Rosie has left, and they have gone through their nightly routine of readying for bed, she almost needs to pinch herself. Is that? It can’t be…it is. She hears soft music playing a familiar tune. The melody making the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. The music draws her to the bedroom. He’s waiting for her, a soft smile changes his face back to someone she remembers. He beckons her to the bed, pulling her into a warm embrace, sucking her back into orbit, making her thankful she stayed. They make love. The entire time she is in a state of euphoria. She wishes she could bottle up this moment. Save it for those bad days when he becomes so cold, mean, and harsh that he’s almost unrecognizable. A dangerous cycle she’s found herself in. 

She sleeps well that night. Better than usual. Dreaming of warm memories of the past and lustful thoughts of their future. She prays he’s back to stay. She wakes in a panic as she realizes it’s already after daybreak. Normally, she’s awake by now, mentally preparing for the emotional beating he’s going to give her. It hits her. There’s no soft hum next to her. No whistling breath. 

In the months after he is buried, she finds herself in a constant daze. Trying to process him being gone, failing to navigate life without him. The memorial service was lovely, he would have loved hearing what his children and partners at the firm had to say about him. He would have laughed at the recounting of his younger days when he was a scrappy kid in law school, a young lawyer working to provide for his family. He would have gotten weepy-eyed like she did as Rosie shared how she longed for the last months back. How their daughter had grown closer to her father during his illness. Driving him to his chemotherapy as she headed into work herself at St. Mercy Hospital. 

She feels guilty at the thoughts she’s having as she thinks back on those final months they had together. Realizing she’d give anything for those moments. She admits quietly to herself…she loved that time. She loved that time, even if it was in sickness, even if she shouldn’t have. She loved waking to his soft breath. She’d trade breakfast alone for breakfast with her old grump any day. She’d give anything to hear him gruff and complain about the fruit she prepared for breakfast. She loved it because he was still here at that time.