Time

Time is mine. It is all mine. Not anyone else's. I don't share time or my time or your time or their time with anyone. It is my time.

Not sharing time is terrifying. I'm not accountable to anyone. I can stay out as long as I want. I don't have anyone home waiting for me. I'm alone. I'm adrift. I'm unanchored.

Where before there was time now there is a hole. I peer into it and wonder how I am going to manage to get through the next minute, hour, day. Time stretches out interminably before me. It is all mine. And I frantically make dates and appointments and schedule friends and activities.

Sundays are the hardest. On Sunday time is so elastic it just stretches out and out and out. The hands on the clock do not seem to move no matter how busy keep myself.The digital clocks don't change either.

There used to be boundaries on time. "I'll only be gone for two hours (or 10 minutes)." Now they are gone. "I'm going out and will be back by twelve". Tethers. Gone. "Come with me, it will only be 15 minutes." Together no more.

"My time" used to be when I went to the barn to play with my horses. But there was always an awareness in the back of my mind that Robert was home. I'd play and have fun with horses and friends, but there was always a clock ticking.

Is this what widowhood is about? Is this what losing my other half means? When "my time" used to be over I'd always call, "I'm on my way home. Do we need anything?" Not any more. Now the time is all mine.