This word can be used so many ways! It can be an adjective, as in: Mark and I are separate. Separate here meaning "not together". It can be a verb, too: I have to separate our things into "mine" and "yours". Separate here meaning to "take apart". I have been packing now for over a week. Eight days, to be exact, not that I'm counting. I've had to go room by room through this house and separate the things in it into two categories: mine or his.
What do I take? There are the obvious things like my personal effects...clothing, bathroom items, things that are definitely mine. No question. Throw them in the box and call it done. Mine. There are other things that are a bit easier to separate also. It's easy to go around and say, that was mine before I came here, and I brought it with me, so I'll take it with me, too. The hard part is that it is being separated from the things that definitely will be staying that were his before I got here. We meshed our lives so completely. We grouped things and enjoyed hanging them together, using "his things" and "my things" to make it "our house" instead of his man cave. :) So when I separate my things from his, there they hang, with blank spots that used to be filled with "us". But now, there is no "us". There is one wall, our bedroom wall, that I love. It's my favorite thing in the whole house. I'm not sure why. I think it is just because it is filled with love. Our initials. Words: dream, love, wish. Photos. Happy, colorful things. I love the yellow walls, I love the red and black accents, and I love the zebra print pattern that tops it off as our comfortor. Yes, typical "Abby", all the way down to the sheets that don't match, because why would you want one pattern when you could have two? And the neat thing is, or was, that he didn't mind. He let me be me, and he enjoyed it. Understood it. The first thing I started doing was taking the walls down, putting my baskets in a box, the fruit bowl I brought, things like that. Things that I didn't need, but wanted to continue to be mine. The bigger things, especially. Shelves, "things", photos, just "stuff". It was the easy stuff, trust me. So, every wall in the house has been separated into their rightful categories. Every wall except our bedroom wall. I mean to take it down, I've tried to take it down, I've even touched the things, but I couldn't lift them off the wall. So the wall remains, at least for now. It's strange living here with him, now being separate entities in the place we made ours together. I wonder if he notices that the one wall remains. I wonder what he thinks when he comes in and sees all the emptiness that I thought was full of love for a lifetime. He shows no emotion; he is like a concrete wall. Yet, I know it has to be in there....I've seen it, for sure....and I just want it to come back. The second thing I had to do was go back to all those walls, and see the things that we purchased to fill the extra spots on those walls. That's the hard part. There are all the memories. This came from Gatlinberg when we went, and I remember the little shop it was in. That came from the flea market in Scottsville; Mark found it, and we knew it was to be ours. We would walk around and pick out the same things, lift the same things off the shelves, not knowing that the other had also done just that. Then we would laugh because we did that, and his eyes would crinkle in the corners, because that's what they do when he is happy and laughing. There are items that we found at garage sales, thrift stores, Goodwill....he and I, we both like the odd things, the things that are a bit different from the norm, and we love to "hunt" for those items. I guess we were hunting for things that were like us; different from the others, and maybe a little odd. Odd and different are OK for me, and for him. So, what do I leave? What do I take? Who found it? Whose personality fits it best? Who uses it? Who loves it more? If I leave it, will he use it? Because if he will, he can have it. But, I don't want to leave it if he won't use it, for I will. But he is not here to ask; he has stayed gone mostly, and there is good to that and bad. Will he keep the photos of us together and treasure them, tuck them away, and know they are there? Or will he just take them down and pitch them? I would leave them if I thought he wanted them, but I don't know what I think. The hardest thing I've had to do is decide what to do with his wedding ring...do I keep it or give it to him? It's in my jewelry box. Again, will he treasure it, and keep it, remembering the good times, or will it get tossed in a drawer, and never thought of again? Should I leave it? Should I take it? I don't know. There are things that are not able to be separated like the paintings I've done on the walls. That is me. My writing. My creation. And it will stay here, at least until it is painted over again, but I am thankful not to have to make the decision of whether to keep it or not. My brain needs a break from that. Have you ever tried to separate an egg? You know how it wants to stay together, and not separate? That's what this feels like...back and forth it goes in my mind. Ping. Pong. One half of the egg shell, then the other. Back and forth, until it finally separates into two separate pieces, no longer together. I will be glad when everything is separated so that I can quit thinking about it. What about the furniture? I painted that. We found this. "We have two benches. Could I take one and you the other? Which would you like to have?" And the few times we've have a conversation like that, we've been fine. No arguing. You can have it. No, you. Well, I like this one because this...so I'll take it, unless you want it, then I'll take the other. See? Still giving and taking, but for the wrong reason. Who wants to give and take when they are separating? All of the things that we've found, that we wanted to keep...the things in my building...the things on the shelves, this neat chair that we recovered together, that rocking chair that we found for a steal of five bucks...how do I separate them? There are things I want to take, but I know they are things he really likes, so I leave them, to make him happy, even though he'll never know the reason they were left and will probably never put any thought into them at all...but I did,and just knowing that I did makes me feel better. I need to remember to ask him to pick out a couple of the coal oil lamps that we've collected. He loves them, and though I've found some and purchased them also, they are definitely his. His collection. I would like to have a couple for practical reasons, but also for sentimental ones, if I were to be truthful about it. So I will ask *him* to separate a couple of those from his collection for me. There are the separate paths that we will take; that we have been taking while staying in the same dwelling. Those kill me. I want to know where he is going. I want to go with him. I don't want to be separate and I don't understand how he can want that. I will be better when I am not here to see him go and come. This, I know. I mourn over the fact that we will be going in different directions, our paths seldomly crossing. I wonder when they *do* cross if my heart can separate from my brain, if I can "protect" myself in that manner, and when I wonder that, I hope that our paths never cross again, but at the same time, I wish that they were meshed into one, criss-crossing back and forth, together. But this will not be. I look around. At the yard. At the rose bush we planted that I cannot see every day when I pull into the driveway, because I won't be here. The tomatoes that I won't be here to pick. The squash I won't fry for him...the zucchini that I can't watch grow until they are *just* the right size to make zucchini casserole. The view that I see out our front door that always makes me feel lucky to be alive, lucky to enjoy this world that God has given us. I won't have that view any more. I will be separated from it. And while I am separated from all these things, I still wonder how he can live here, without me, apart, and not together. Surely my essence remains, if only coming to the surface here and there, when he lets his mind wander, until he remembers to harden back up. If only when he sits on his "side" of the loveseat, and beside him is nothing. No one. But that is where I am supposed to be. But I am not. I wonder if he can ever sit there, in his spot, without me, and watch The Big Bang Theory, for I know I cannot watch it without him by my side to enjoy the humor. The humor we both pick up on, because we are both smart enough to catch the things they say. I could not watch it, because when I turn my head to ask him if he caught "that", he will not be there. I wonder if that applies to him. I don't know. I could write all night long the thoughts that ramble through my brain, the questions I have, the answers I will never have and on and on about how hard it is to separate and to be separated, for I do not feel whole any longer....because part of my heart, if not all, so it seems, is separated from me, and walking around with him, wherever he may be.
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