|A bygone moment of bliss|
I keep myself busy with friends. I focus on work. I take advantage of the liberties afforded by her absence.
But life is dreary.
Mundane tasks (laundry, preparing meals, cleaning) are devoid of importance now she is not here to remind me that I matter. If for no other reason than to love her.
I miss it all. Not only the laughter and the intimacy, but the silly disputes: what to watch on television? Where to go for dinner?
This bereavement is part of the price one pays when one is married to an immigrant. There are times when we must be apart.
She has people, half a world away, that she loves and must visit. And loving her, I must do what I can to help.
For her, it must be worse. There is nowhere in the world where she can be close to all the people she loves. Wherever she goes, she is separated by continents and vast oceans. It is this knowledge that keeps me from indulging overmuch in self-pity.
But today, and for the next several weeks, my heart is in Africa.