In Space and Time

I've decided. Enough of my wishy-washy meandering. It's time for the three-prong plan. Fourth and fifth prongs can be added as needed, but for now, here it is:

1) Nights when my son is with his dad, I take myself out - to concerts, classes, lectures, even just for a run. It doesn't matter where or what I do. Everything counts.

2) Enforcement of the two-date-minimum rule with anyone who asks.

3) Opening my heart to whatever feelings come my way. And that means anything.

Number 3f will be challenging. In fact, this morning, it already was. It happened while I was putting my son's overnight bag in his dad's car. "Have fun," I called out.

My ex-husband didn't reply, so I said it again. Finally, without looking up, he answered, "We will."

A nothing response that I'm sure he wouldn't even remember. But for me, the guillotine dropped. Maybe it was the combination of melting snow, gray skies, the smell of 35-degree weather. But in the instant after he'd uttered that innocuous, throw-away line, I was carried back to our time together in Vermont, when he'd be sitting in the Subaru while I buckled our son into his car seat. Careful not to slam, I'd shut the back door then climb in up front, alongside my husband, our bodies fitting together in space and time, without either of us uttering a word.

It was just a momentary flash, but the feeling lingered and didn't go away till I got back upstairs, grabbed a can of Comet and started scouring the stove that hadn't been cleaned in months.

An older friend, a widow, whom I met in Vermont, once told me that at night, when she couldn't sleep, she'd get up and scrub the bathroom tiles with a toothbrush. This morning I understood why.