Presence and Absence

There is no comparison between presence and absence.

When he is gone...as he is now on a business trip to California....I come home from work, and the house is empty. He isn't usually here when I get home from work, but there is a difference between knowing that he will be home soon and knowing he will not. I mean the house is EMPTY.

The thermostat has been set low during the day, and so the temperature isn't quite up to a comfort zone. The house is cold, and the house is COLD.

The house is silent, and I know it will remain so. I cannot look forward to the snow crunching under the tires of his car as he pulls in the drive, the rhythm of his footsteps coming toward the back door, the opening and closing of the door and the pleasant greeting.

Suppertime will come. I will try to think of something to eat. It isn't any fun to fix a meal for one. What is left over that I can zap in the microwave? No remains needing to be eaten up? Well, maybe I'll have some soup or an egg. If he were here, I would set the table, maybe light a candle, peel real potatoes to go with the meat and vegetable. We would sit and talk as we ate, sharing events of the day and thoughts on life in general. Tonight I will sit in front of the TV while I eat.

Eventually I will go upstairs and get ready for bed. I will put on socks tonight, as there will be no one to warm my cold feet on. I will read for awhile with the TV on too, just for some noise. I will wait for him to call...he always calls when he is out of town. Last night he had terrible laryngitis.

I said, "You sound awful. We shouldn't talk too long."

He said, "I don't mind listening."

I will turn out the light and stare up into the darkness. I will slide my hand across the bed and feel the emptiness, and I will think, "There is no comparison between presence and absence."

He should be home by tomorrow night, and everything will be different.