The light illuminating from the red numbers on the alarm clock eerily bring me the only comfort I’ve felt in weeks. I have the radio on, trying to cut through the deafening silence. It’s playing some song I don’t care for, but it’s better than listening to the sound of hopelessness and failure that clouded my mind prior to turning it on.

It‘s my first night alone. Ever. Earlier, the thought of being on my own made me excited, ready to face my fears and insecurities, but now the loneliness has set it, and I can’t seem to get it to go away. My mom left this afternoon, and I tried to keep a smile on my face as she got in her car and drove away. I’m good at faking myself out like that, it’s always been a good façade for my true feelings, but now it’s simply not enough. I’m alone with only my thoughts to keep me company.

I roll over in my too-large-for-one bed, trying to find the cold side of the sheets again. It’s too hot in my bedroom; I’m not used to this new apartment. I don’t think I like it much, but I realized it’s a direct representation of how messed up my life has become since he left: bland, boring, and utterly disappointing.

I’ve never lived on my own before. I keep telling myself I need to suck it up and be an adult, but the absence of him makes me ache, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from soaking the pillow with my tears.

I wonder what he’s doing right now. Does he think about me, because I sure as hell haven’t stopped thinking about him. It’s still relatively early, is he out with friends? Maybe with a girl? The thought makes me cringe, but I have no right, really. I had my chance, and now I’m lying here in bed, alone. I blame myself, even thought my mom spent the better part of the day reassuring me that I made the right decision. She didn’t sound too convinced herself.

I get up and grudgingly make my way into my bare kitchen. I grab my trusty teapot and go to fill it with water. As I watch the water run freely into the pot, I can’t help but reflect upon the memories that once filled this teapot. I just wish they weren’t so painful to recall. It shouldn’t be like that. I set the full teapot on the stove, and lean against the counter to wait for it to boil. It’s sad to think that this is what my life has come to. I’m all alone, drinking tea in an apartment full of dead-end hope. I feel pathetic as I wipe away the single tear that has finally made it’s way down my cheek. Surprisingly, I haven’t cried since it all happened. Even when I told Roy it was over, I didn’t shed a tear.

Just as water begins to boil over the side, so do my emotions. My legs feel like giving out as I slide down the counter onto the harsh, cold floor. I wrap my arms around myself, and sob until that dull ache disappears. I know it’s only temporary, but it allows me to crawl back in bed and begin my first night of fitful sleep.

One night of fitful sleep turns into days, weeks, and eventually months. I can’t keep living like this, but there really isn’t anything else I can do. It got a little better for a few weeks, but the pain returned ten-fold when Jim came back from Stamford. He came back, but he didn’t really come back.

Somewhere along the way I finally realize that sometimes you have to go through the pain to experience the joy.

--------------------

Several years later

Exhausted wouldn‘t even begin to describe how I feel right now. I haven’t slept well in months, but it doesn’t have anything to do with the absence of a warm body next to me. In fact, the less people involved in this non-existent ritual called sleep, the better off I would be. Someone’s keeping me up, and for once it’s not his snoring. Another kick in the ribs, and I’m out of bed, on my way to get a drink of water in the kitchen.

I grab the glass of ice water, and go to stand in front of the vent from the air conditioner. It feels so hot in our house, and it’s only the beginning of summer. Poor Jim’s had to wear a jacket in the house for the last month, but he just smiles and tells me it‘s worth it. I don’t really feel bad, after all its half his fault that I’m in this predicament. The jacket usually doesn’t stay on long after that anyway…

I down two glasses of ice water, and head off back to bed. I sit up against the headboard, my legs stretched out in front of me. I have the perfect view of the sleeping form next to me, and I can’t help but run the back of my fingers lightly over his cheek, feeling the imperceptible stubble there. God, I love this man. I trail my fingers through his hair, and make a mental note that he needs a haircut. Maybe I’ll forget to tell him…I prefer it this way, anyway.

Speaking of need…a quick trip to the bathroom, and I’m back in bed. The culprit’s still awake, and he’s making 100% sure I’m aware of it. If he doesn’t stop playing soccer with my ribs, I’m going to ground him until he goes off to college. I lay my hand on my huge belly and let out a little laugh. It‘s so pathetic how uncomfortable and impatient I‘ve become in the last 9 months, and Jim looks so…peaceful. Sometimes I want to wake him up, just because it isn’t fair that I should be the only one suffering through this. Maybe if I lay close enough to him, our son will kick him, too.

That thought is cut off by a weird fluttering in my lower stomach. That’s not a normal feeling. The next time it happens, it’s accompanied by a dull ache. Dull ache eventually turns into pain, and I finally realize that I might just be in labor. Yes! An excuse to wake Jim up! I smugly nudge him awake, and inform him that his son is ready to make his grand appearance into the world, and unless he‘s prepared to deliver him by himself, we‘d better get a move on. He sleepily mutters “That’s what she said”, and I reply with “Nice. There goes my water.“

He’s out of bed and fully dressed in under 30 seconds, and I waddle my way out to our too-big-for-two car, hand in hand with my best friend, ready to embark on a new adventure, together. I can’t hardly wait.

So much for getting sleep. I really don’t mind this time.