phantom limb syndrome

It’s only been a little over 24 hours since my two better halves boarded a plane for Canada and left me alone and lonely in this city of sacrament. I miss them so much. I missed them even before they left. Now I am here with too little to do and too much time. Sleep escapes me. Who wants to sleep when things go bumpity-bump in the night and no-one is here to help me shoo away my scary imaginings. Obi gives some reassurance, but not much. Especially when he starts barking at an empty room and I wonder if he senses something I can’t see. That’s when I turn the TV volume a little bit higher and pretend to laugh at the silly shows.

When I got up this morning from a pretend sleep, it was exactly 3:30 am. In exactly 1 hour I had to be at work. I looked at the coffee maker, wondering how to operate it. Cam always started the coffee, always made sure there was fresh energy brewing before I spirited myself to work. As for my cell-phone, it’s missing again. It could be under the cushions, or under some messy stack of papers, or right under my nose!! But I couldn’t find it without Cam’s help.

My legs feel bare without some tiny arms clinging to them, tugging at my shirt and exclaiming “Up! Up!” The tiny hall is too quiet without the Sophia Bear beating the walls with her wooden spoon.

I think I am suffering from phantom limb syndrome…the emotional kind that runs in families. I feel handicapped without them. Their absence is tugging painfully at my heart. I know, it will only be for ten days, but it’s still hard. Right now, I have to re-teach myself the basics of living alone – lock doors, eat healthy (stay away from McDonald’s), clean up, and put gas in the car. While I wait for these 10 days of loneliness to pass, I have to stretch out my thoughts and practice skills I haven’t used, like reading a favorite book, writing in my journal, and socializing with non-family beings. I might even find the time to dust off those painting brushes and let loose at a blank canvas. Who knows, I just might uncover a part of me that has not seen the light in a long, long time.