I’m glad Munchkin is okay, but why on earth are you up so late? It’s the middle of the night there,he replies.
I haven’t told Sam much about Austin. When people without disabled children learn that I’m raising an autistic son, there’s always some form of sympathy and declarations of, ‘I don’t know how you do it’, ‘you’re so strong’, or ‘I could never do it’. The really clueless or insensitive like to ask me when I’m going to put my son in a home. I don’t think Sam is clueless or insensitive, but I don’t want his sympathy. So, instead, I keep my reply generic.
I’ve had a rough day. It’s taking a while to wind down.
I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it? I hear sharing halves the burden,he responds.
Strangely, I find that Idowant to talk to Sam. I get the feeling that he understands about loss and loneliness.
I’m just missing my husband. Having myself a pity party.
I feel self-conscious even as I hit the send button. It’s a lot to share with a man I’ve never met, but I’ve been feeling closer and closer to my mysterious boss, even though he’s further away now than before. His next text sets my mind at ease.
It’s hard to be alone sometimes. I love Munchkin, but sometimes a pet isn’t the same as a partner.
You said it,I shoot off as I finally ready myself for bed.
Tell me about your husband. What was he like?
His question makes me smile. I settle back into my pillows – pillows I once shared with the man I now miss so much. I swallow back a feeling of more impending tears as I type out my answer.
Steve was my rock.He was a policeman. He loved his job, looking out for his community.
The breath I draw in shudders a little as I think about it. If it hadn’t been for his job, I never would have lost him. Every day, I try not to resent it, but it’s hard. They say it’s the risk you take, being a policeman’s wife. But I’m pretty sure that little gem is shared by people who haven’t lost a loved one. Nothing ever prepares you for facing the consequences of that risk. The screen of my phone is shining again.
What was your favorite thing about him?
His smile. When he smiled at me, all my troubles melted away.
I dash away a tear, half-wondering what Sam’s smile would be like. I’d caught glimpses of it in the photos in his home. A warm, craggy face; a lived-in face. Comforting. I feel comforted now.
He sounds like a really good man.
He was.You sound like you know about losing a loved one.
If he can ask personal questions, so can I.
Yeah. My father passed away when I was eighteen. He was my rock too. He’s been gone a lot longer than your husband, but I still miss him. There are so many things I’ve wanted to share with him over the years.
He hasn’t mentioned the boy from the photos who I assume was his son, but I don’t press for details. Maybe it’s too hard. I bet he was a wonderful dad…like my husband would have been. I wonder again where that earnest, dark-eyed boy went. Did he abandon his father? Leave Sam alone? I can’t imagine that. Maybe he’s gone forever too, like Steve. I’m crying again, but my tears are as much for this man as they are for me.
I hate thinking about all the things Steve is missing. And that I’ll always have a hole in my heart.
The hole gets smaller, but it never goes away. At least, it hasn’t for me.
I’m sorry,I type back. I really mean it.
Thank you.I hate to leave you when you’re upset, but I have to rush to an engagement.
His answer makes me a bit sad; I don’t want the exchange to end. But I’m surprised to realize that I actually feel a bit better. I shouldn’t be leaning on my boss for emotional support – I’ve never even met the man. There’s a connection there though. It warms me.
I’m much better. You were right–sharing eased this burden.Thank you for listening. I’m wound down enough for sleep.
That’s good to hear. Sleep tight.
I set my phone on the nightstand and snuggle under the covers as sleep takes me. I know I’ll never replace Steve, but maybe someday, I’ll find a man like Sam. I know Steve wouldn’t want me to be alone forever.
Chapter 11
