the pieces of

I miss you. Your physical presence next to me when I wake up in the middle of the night. The sounds of you puttering around the house while the rest of us sleep. The knowledge that you will lock the doors before you go to sleep. These comforts exist no longer. They were buried with you. I am alone now in this bed when I wake. I sift through the hum of a sleeping house to parse out an existence that is no longer there. I get up to double check the doors myself.

I miss you. Playing Mario Kart in the living room while you make dinner in the kitchen, sharing about our days over the dining room table between us. Giving our baby a bath knowing there is you to hand that lavender-scented little to when he is done getting the soap rinsed from his hair. Making eye contact over the head of our cranky two-year-old, relieved to see it’s not just me who is close to losing their mind. I operate alone now to move the kids from dinner to bath to pajamas to bed. I time Sam’s bath so I can get his pajamas on while Archie gives himself a shower and Charlie doesn’t have enough leeway to get into mischief. I constantly wonder Is it me? when it comes to toddler tantrums.

I miss you. The hand in the car to hold. The shoulder where I rest my weary head. The chest I punch in exasperation. The feet I find under the table. The voice I listen for on the other end of the phone call. All these pieces of you that gave the pieces of me meaning, gone, and nothing makes up the difference.

I miss mattering to another person the way I mattered to you. I miss sharing the kids with a person who was as invested in them as I was. I miss coming home to someone who asked, “How can I take care of you?” Remember all those times you told me to take a day off, rest, recalibrate? And I rarely did, because I was so worried what everyone else would think of me, that I would come across as a slacker or unprofessional. You’d be so proud of me now, hon. I take days off like the best of ’em. But realistically, it’s necessary.

Sometimes I feel like a remote control car running at full speed only to find I’ve been on treadmill the whole time, getting no where. All this effort and no gain. Trying to get the medical bills wrapped up only to find the day’s mail sitting in a pile on the counter. Trying to get the laundry folded only to do bath time and have another load ready to go. Trying to hold the kids enough only for them to have a rough night and need me all over again. It’s like brushing teeth, I’m never done, once and for all. You know I thought to myself the other day, All these other people get to just miss him. I’m stuck now making up the difference and I haven’t even gotten to the part where I cry yet.

Because all the pieces of you that gave the pieces of me meaning are gone, and I will spend the rest of my life making up the difference.

I miss you.