I want to go home.
I’m leaving a FYP (Finish Your Project) night and wandering the streets of Clarksburg again tonight. The last time I did this I asked everyone there to pray for Dan as he was heading in to surgery the next week and I wasn’t going to be able to make it to the next FYP due to his recovery process and the like.
The streets are dark and quiet. Everything is closed. A few streetlights cast a dim light over the city giving it a restful appearance. I am aware of the dangers that darkness presents and am cautious as I make my way to my vehicle. Dan worries when I’m out late. Of course, he probably fell asleep. Why is it that he can’t stay awake on the nights I’m gone and come cuddle with me and go to sleep on the nights I’m home? Grouch, grouch.
I know that if I let my mind go numb and let reflexes take over, that I will automatically drive to the location of our old house (which is sold and torn down).
I want to go home. I want to get mad at Dan for going to sleep early. I want to stomp my way up those steps in the hopes that he will wake up and come running to help. I want to see him sleeping in our bed. I want to get changed and slip under the covers and cuddle up next to him while deciding that it just isn’t worth being mad at him . . he will have no clue.
Instead I cry rivers of tears as I head to my impersonal hotel room, full of sleeping kids and a nanny. It hurts.