Grand Canyon of Emptiness

Being a wife without her husband and a mother without her children means that a home is just a building, boundaries of clay enveloping empty space. I don't find "alone" scary, and the past 2 years of alone-ness has passed by swiftly , barely punctuated by loneliness.  

Why, then, should this week bring a grand canyon of desolation to break like an enraged tidal wave over my head and sweeping my soul, helplessly caught up in a riptide, out to sea? 

I love my life, dammit, it's busy and interesting and filled with new experiences, travel, stimulating work, remarkable people and some heartwarming community projects.  I wake up happy every day, and am incredibly lucky to do so.

But.

For one month, 30 wonderful days, Junior came home from varsity and as the sun breaks through cloud, releasing rich colour and light in its path, I found a fulfillment I hadn't even known was lacking.  

Eagerly looking forward to early evening, when he returned  from work and we enjoyed a drink on the verandah, sharing tales of our day, I enthusiastically prepared meals, setting the table for two.  Suddenly, life has more meaning. How could that be - there was no lack of purpose to begin with?

Then Him Outdoors arrived home for Christmas and I'm just short of Senior Son to make life paradise.  There's laughter and noise, a pile of dirty dishes and laundry. Walks, eye-rolling and exasperated sighs.  Snoring and having to share "my" bathroom. Morning tea in bed.

If I have to sum it all up in a word, "sharing" will do.  In a good way.

A tsunami of friends and family arrive and the roar of a full house drowns out the sound of a  tide turning as the hours slip past.  The flow ebbs away until the crashing waves are silenced.  A home is transformed back into a brick structure and emptiness echoes the bleakness within me. Now the water is my brimming eyes, staring into empty rooms.  My hands, so busy for a while, hang reproachfully at my side, tingling with unused energy.  Crying out for something to do.  A beloved someone to care for.  My family.  At home.

I thought I had it all sussed out and sorted by now, but I've uncovered a secret place.  I'm a nurturer, needing to be needed by those I love most.  It puffs out my chest and makes my toes dance.  And conflicts with my fierce independence. Am I two people in one body and mind?  

And most importantly, can I be alone in this?  Is there anyone out there who is also contemplating, with bewilderment, a paradigm shift of who they thought they were?  Is medication in order or is this yet another step on the ladder of mid life crisis?

Frankly, my dear, I'd thought we were past this by now.