After spending a low-key weekend chilling by the pool, I had a jillion emotions running through me. I was trying to relax, but my insides were stirring like an erupting volcano. I felt guilty. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be living like I’m on vacation. Alone. It wasn’t right. I have been in San Diego for almost a month now. I’ve been pretending it’s okay. Sometimes it is. I’ve met some wonderful people. But there is a huge empty hole. It’s just weird. There is no other way to describe it. It comes and goes in waves. One minute life seems almost normal. Well, a “new” normal. The next, it’s not. I try to establish a routine. I rise and shine at the same time each morn. I walk Lucy. I savor my cup of joe, scan email, scour social media. I workout. People! Social time. Talking. For a few minutes before class. And then it’s over. Time to sweat. And then people are on their way. Onto their lives. Busy. Kids. Husbands. Work. I stop at the store for nothing better to do. Sprouts, Vons, Walgreens. Anywhere. It’s a time excuse. I must need SOMETHING. Back home. Lucy greets me with such unconditional love. Wet kisses, yaps, and more kisses. We walk, she pees, we go home. Now, what? It’s only noon. What do we do to fill our day? Some days we go to Starbucks. I sit and write. She snuggles under the table on her favorite Santa hat, gnawing on a bone, and watches people.
Afternoons. We discovered the dog park. What a fun adventure. Not so much for me. Fun for Lucy. I watch. I smile. I find joy. She prances. She plays. She comes back to see where I am. Then she’s off again. All the dogs are bigger than her. She doesn’t care. She thinks she’s bigger than they are. I share small talk with some of the dog owners. What kind of dog is that? A teacup yorkie. What kind is yours? How old is she? Just 11 months. Oh, she’s still a puppy. Yes, but she’ll stay that small. The banter is always the same. And then they move on.
This weekend I was at the pool for two days. I thought it might be an opportunity to meet people in the complex. Interesting. I saw some of the same people. Silence. Eyes averted. Okay. I get it. No conversation. Except for one older woman. Maybe that is being a bit judgemental. She was probably my age. Who knows? She sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her toes. I went to dip. She started chatting. Actually complaining, whining. “The pool is too cold. They never warm it. I’ve been living here for 4 years. They say it’s going to be 80 degrees and this is no 80 degrees. I’ve complained for 4 years and they do nothing. I tell other people to complain, but no one complains. My husband complains, but they do nothing.” Okay. Nice conversation. It gets better. She tells me they moved because they lost their beautiful house. Her husband screwed up. He lost everything. She was mad at him. At some point, it comes up in the convo that I’m new in the area. Why? I recently lost my husband and I’m looking to make a move. “I almost lost my husband. He almost died. But he didn’t. I don’t know why. But he didn’t. He lived.” Okay. You are lucky. “Well. Sometimes. I realized he does a lot of things around the house. And sometimes it’s really quiet when he’s not there.” By that point, I wanted to walk away but was trying to be polite. I quietly mentioned that I just wished my hubby was there to be with me. We were best friends and spent a lot of time together. She didn’t get it. She just rambled on about her sister and her husband. Her sister couldn’t wait to be alone. Lovely! Just the words a widow is longing to hear. My phone started buzzing. Saved by the bell!
So as I lay on my lounge, trying to relax in the sunshine, I felt empty. I wanted Gregger to be there. I shouldn’t be in this place alone. But I don’t want to be home either. So it’s limbo land. It was just one of those days. Tomorrow will be better. I’ll meet different people. I’ll have better conversations. I’ll fill the void. But I can’t help thinking that WE should be here, not just ME. I’ll get over that hurdle too. It’s just a little bump in the road before I’m back on smooth ground.
