I am no longer sleeping with Hans. We have our own bedrooms. Jules gives tours and says casually, "This is Dad's room and this is Mom's." Does anyone find that unusual? Is anyone shocked by that? My parents slept separately for the last 25 years of their married life and I never got used to it. It's just not right. It speaks of separation, aloneness and distorts the meaning of marriage. Even in bad marriages. But I am no longer sleeping with H. It speaks of my impending widow hood.
Sometimes I crawl into his bed while he is sleeping in his chair. I smell the sheets. I cover myself up in them. I wrap him around my body. It's the closest I can humanly get to him. For weeks after I moved out of his room, the Lord sent Emmie to sleep with me. Her warm little body and movement made me feel safe. Separation is hard. We are one on so many levels—hormonally, molecularly, his scent brings well being to my life. I am in detox mode today.
I had a dream last night. It ended as most of my dreams do: unfinished and unfulfilled. I was in love. He was in love with me too. There were a thousand people in the last scene, I longed to reach him and hug him and be renewed, my spirit weakened by the lack of physical contact with him. Another woman suddenly appeared on the screen of my thoughts and took him away. He went with her sadly. Yearning overtook me. It was a done deal. Loss. I woke up with a headache, my heart heavy with need and emptiness. I knew that I needed God in that moment for He is my divine lover and my best friend. His face is kind, radiant and strong. He has already died and will live forever. Nothing can separate me from Him. Hans has been a picture of Jesus' love for me. Hans has leapt giant buildings and raced speeding trains for me. But at the end of the day, the love that compelled him was the love of my Lord, from whom I shall be forever bound.
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