This evening I headed out to a pub with some of my work colleagues to honor one of them on his new job. This one person is moving for a new position at another school and recently became engaged. I’m going to make a long story very short, a few other brought their significant others, and being surrounded by couples made my head spin. I loathed being around couples. I’ve been around couples before, and did all right, but for some reason this time felt like shards of glass puncturing my soul. I couldn’t look at them, I didn’t even want to acknowledge they were there. I wanted to scream, but instead crossed my legs, and fiddled with my wedding ring until it was time to go.
As I was leaving, I said good bye to my work colleague who’s moving. I noticed that for the majority of the night he was holding his fiancé’s hand. I wished him good luck on the move and said, it’s usually a sign of a great relationship when you continue to hold hands. I held my husband hand all the time and my grand parents, who were married for almost 70 years, said that holding hands connects the soul. I had to run out because I was about to start bawling. I miss holding George’s hand, and when it’s gone all you wish is to hold it for one more day. The comfort and protection that comes when your fingers are woven and interlocked with your loved one is undeniably special and intimate.
George and I did a few double dates, but we never really were too keen on it. There were a few couples we enjoyed going out with but for the most part we really enjoyed each others company. We would go to restaurants and sit next to each other so we could hold hands, stare lovingly at each other, and always share our meals. We called it splits. We would go out to dinner and he would say “Do you wanna splits?” and always I would grin and say yeah, what are you thinking? And usually he would say the dish that I was thinking about getting too. I’m starting to think a love like that is a once in a lifetime thing.
I had such a good day today. I knew tonight was going to be extremely difficult. When grief passes over me during the day, the night time grief is like a mugger; it’s harsh and unforgiving. This loneliness is unbearable. But in the word of John Green, “that’s the thing about pain, it demands to be felt.” I need other W’s to hang out with.