Just journaling: I don’t miss him when he’s not here. I don’t panic when he’s gone any more. It’s like snow in January. It just is. What’s rough now is missing him when he’s here. I hate seeing him within an arms length of me and knowing he won’t reach out to touch me, and I couldn’t possibly reach out to him. Not when he makes us dinner. Not when he helps around the house, because I know it’s just part of the at home show. I do wonder how long I’ll be able to not be bothered by the comings and goings. I’ll find out I guess. If nothing else all of this is going to drill patience into me.
