When George was receiving treatments he would go to the hospital and then come home. In his final months, I took Tuesday’s off too. The idea of taking Tuesday’s off has lingered. I do work on Tuesdays but I tend to use Tuesday’s as a rest day. I don’t know why this has held on, but for some reason I just go with it.
When Tuesday’s would roll around George and I would get brunch and then head into the city. Sometimes he had early appointments and I would hop on the path train and meet him for lunch. I remember how peaceful it was to be hand in hand with him. Walking around NYC or Jersey City. I miss those Tuesday’s. I miss him. I have a love/hate with my current affairs. I wish he was around to share my life with, but I wouldn’t be here if he was still around. I wouldn’t be having this experience at Huntingdon or in Alabama if he was still alive. The platitude of everything happens for a reason is so hackneyed, but I’ve done all right for myself all things considered. I’ve done better than all right, I’m thriving. But those thoughts of what if still haunt me. I think they always will. And they pop up frequently whenever I have this cloud of melancholy hovering.