Take care, now ...

Some days I just want someone to take care of me. Maybe I need a sugar daddy ... but not in a dirty way, of course. I could trade yard work for good conversation -- or a dinner and a movie for a home-cooked meal. You know ... wholesome stuff. Yeh, no. It's bigger than that. It's a fantasy of not having to be wholly responsible for myself, my house, my property, my car, and my children. It's fantasy because it is simply not my reality. I'm it. I have to get myself everywhere I go, so I'm always the designated driver. I have to go to parties and dinners and events alone so I mostly just don't go. I have to deal with all the house stuff -- like the roof and the mowing and a whole lot more. Thankfully I have a relationship with the service manager where I get my car work done -- he takes really good care of me (with no expectation other than my gratitude and credit card payment, of course). And I am on my own with my kids -- meeting their every need all by myself. Well, those that they aren't yet meeting for themselves, of course. There's nobody to pick up my slack. It can get overwhelming, you know? I know a lot of people are in the same boat.

David used to bring me a cup of coffee in bed each and every morning that he was home. He was quite proud of that. He wondered how many husbands were so incredibly thoughtful as he was ... (when he was trying to score points.) That certainly was a beautiful way to take care of me, though. It's not an oil change, but it's relationship-based and we women love that! He wrote love songs for me, too. I think that's probably a very unique kind of thing. And he did trim the trees! without me having to ask. He noticed that they needed to be trimmed and he did it. That was key. Right now I have a tree that's scraping against the gutter and the window -- it's just getting in the way all-around. He would have handled that -- and trimmed those bushes in front of that window, too. I did it last year, somehow! I don't know where I put the trimmers, though. That's very unlike me. A real mystery. I guess I need to hire someone now ... or I could wait for the boy to come home at Thanksgiving. Hmmmmm.

The boy. The boy is good for lots of things. I never once told him that he was now the "man of the house." I don't know if anyone did ... I hope not. It would be one thing if he were 25 or something -- but he's 18. That's too great a burden. He's been burdened enough. When he was home, he was good for amazing hugs (touch) and mowing (on his own schedule). He even cooked sometimes. He learned easily to handle his own car maintenance once he learned what it was all about. That is huge! He's a good text-to-text grocery shopper, too -- a willing buyer (as long as those red-hot cheetos can be on the list). But he's over 300 miles away right now and quite wrapped-up in his own life, as he should be. Can that tree-trimming wait? Maybe ... but do I want him out working in the yard those few days he'll be home? or inside with us catching up?

Rent-a-husband!

Rent-a-Husband is an actual, franchised handyman chain of businesses. I think it's a very clever name and I love the concept. Unfortunately, they can't meet all of my needs, though. Okay, you clean gutters -- do you also brew coffee and deliver it to the bedroom at o'dark thirty? Doubt it! Though "Tall, Dark and Handy," you just can't meet every need! (And they shouldn't.) This is not an R-rated blog, but it feels like it's moving toward that, doesn't it?

But seriously ... as one dear friend has put it, "There's nothing like a man in the house." And she's right. This can be a son! A good dose of testosterone in one's proximity makes life more complete. Sadly, in my situation, it's a little bit more hard to come by without crossing certain boundaries. I definitely miss simple conversation with a man. I miss the male perspective on everything and anything. I miss the tenor of the male voice. I've already written about missing the body heat and the presence -- the touch. I miss male companionship. And I do understand that it's tricky. I believe that men and women really can't be friends -- especially if they're married. But sometimes I want to take that ascertainment back! I mean, I don't want to go to dinner and a movie with someone's husband, but I would entertain the idea of coffee with an unmarried man -- for the conversation -- the point of view -- the companionship. I love men.

When my father ultimately remarried, I remember thinking, "Well, she definitely can't replace my mother!" At the time, it made it easier to stomach. She was so much unlike my mother that there would never be a way my father would feel guilt over "replacing" her. He should have striven higher, though -- WAY higher. She was awful. To this day, there is still so much sorrow there in his daughters. He deserved to find a loving companion to live-out his days. Such an intelligent and wonderfully loving man ... yet he made a poor choice.

But, alas, I'm still wearing these rings ... and still feel married, though not quite as adamantly as I did even a month ago. This uncleaving business happens when you least expect it. 'People' say, "David would not have wanted you to be alone!" But you know what? I have NO idea what he would have wanted. He never even began to tell me. I don't think he'd ever thought about it. There will never, ever be another David. That's actually a comfort to me. I'll never hope or want to fill his shoes -- replace him. He can never be replaced. Knowing that actually makes it a little easier to consider having coffee with someone -- or maybe the daring undertaking of a dinner or a movie. Of course, I haven't been asked ... It's one thing to write about it or to think about it -- but I might run and hide if it ever happens. But maybe not ... if it felt safe and comfortable. If it felt like I was being taken care of. Still, I'm fiercely independent. Scary, even to me.

And there will come a time,
you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart,
but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see
what you find there,
With grace in your heart
and flowers in your hair.              from After the Storm, Mumford and Sons