Mama in the Moon: Escape

Some days, missing Richard feels like too much. The ache is so overwhelming, and the only person who could truly make it disappear is thousands of miles away. On days like this, I feel like I am suffocating in my loneliness and have to get away. Everything in our house is a reminder of him, and every time I see the front door I remember that he is not going to walk through it tonight, or tomorrow night, or even a week or a month from tonight.

This is not to sound like I never see people; I think there is a difference between being alone and being lonely. I am rarely ever alone, yet the loneliness is always present. In fact, I have found that at family gatherings, or times when I am with a large group of people, that is when I feel Richard's absence the most. It's as though it is accentuated by the fact that everyone is here, except him.

On days like this, I have to escape. The boys and I get in the car, and we drive. No particular destination in mind, we just leave. I feel by moving, by busying myself, I am forcing the hands on the clock to move. Today we drove 40 minutes to a town, where we drove around for another five minutes and then returned home. I'm sure I'll be irritated at myself when I have to fill my car with gas next time, because the drive today was pretty pointless, but it sure beat sitting at home.

It was gorgeous today though, and every time we passed a large, open field on the drive back, all I could think was how much I wanted to take the boys outside and just let them run. As soon as we got home, that's exactly what we did.

We played with water.