For Him

It’s quiet in the house when he’s not here. A big, empty space full of longing.

The workshop is cold and it’s dark, even with the light on. Wood and tools hang around waiting to be put to some use. The pine, the cherry and even the plywood seem to yawn, bored and yearning to become a door, drawer or table.

The truck sits sadly under the trees. The rust shows up more when he’s gone and its damp and smelly from last night’s rain.

The mail piles up in the mailbox. It’s all garbage anyway.

He’s not here to tell me the stories in his head. Or the latest terrible news, or just that I look nice even when I feel like crap.

Nobody clunks by my desk on the way to the bathroom. The sink is free from dirty splashes and the toilet well-scrubbed.

But he’s not here to appreciate the smell of baking bread wafting from the oven. And just look at that golden crust! No-one except the cats are in the garden and when I look out, he doesn’t come around the corner to feed the birds or smile through the window.

But the kitchen is clearer because he’s not snacking and dropping crumbs even though, he says he cleans up. It’s quiet and tidy and we’re not bickering over dumb things and when we talk on the phone we are nice to each other.

 At night, I don’t hear him snore, or wonder about his midnight rambles when low blood sugar prompts him to move towards the kitchen.  But I do hear every creak of the wooden floorboards as they expand and contract. And each time a cat jumps onto or off, of a bed, then gently trot downstairs on their little cat paws, I wake and worry.

Of all the things we’ve been through over the course of these several years, it isn’t much to miss him for a while. Love is painful, after all, but no one tells you that when you’re young and it would make no difference if they did.

Consi Handelsman Bennett.              

April 2023