'Tell me about your day.' In person. That's what I miss

One of the hardest things about living alone is not having someone to have a conversation about how our days were. The things that made us smile, made us cry, made the wrinkles in our foreheads grow a bit deeper.

There’s only silence when I come home. 

My niece, who is living with me temporarily, works nights and, when she isn’t at work, she’s out with her boyfriend or with friends. The times we are together, we get caught up on things in her world; the assumption being that the life of an almost 24 year old is more fascinating than the life of an almost 60 year old. Truthfully, depending on your point of view, it can be. 

I have friends with whom I share my day. They are always kind, listen, share in return. But I’ve recently become very aware that, while sharing through writing is a great way to communicate, I’m painfully missing not having someone in the same room to have an actual off-the-cuff conversation with. Someone to tell me the random conversation at the pool with a stranger who was a passionate vegetarian was, indeed, strange. Someone to give me a huge hug and listen to me when I say I’m worried about the results from a recent medical test and that, whatever happens, I can vent and share anytime, anywhere. 

I’m missing having someone in the same place at the same time telling me about their thoughts, their feelings and what gets them excited and filled with hope. 

It’s something I took for granted with My Favourite Husband (MFH) — having a trusted confidante to sit with me, breathe with me. Someone whose eyes I could look into, whose smile I could see, whose face I could hold.

My life is full and beautiful, and I have many things that make me give thanks. And I’m fine on my own most of the time. But every once in a while, I miss the heartbeat of MFH as he holds me close and listens and talks and we share life.