Reality sucks

It's been a hard week. Sandy's absence has been acutely painful. She'd have nursed my wounds last weekend (as I've already written here), been engaged in discussing election results, and taken care of me when my day went wrong yesterday.

Tuesday, I had a migraine, which made me feel much more fragile -- but it was also Election Day, and that's always been a big deal for us. Usually, we each settle in with a computer and we have the TV or radio on; we track issues and candidates across the country and locally as the results come in. We read analyses and share what we're learning on all fronts with each other. This year, partially because I had a migraine but mostly because I was missing her, I spent all of 15 minutes checking election results. The world of politics is less urgent, less relevant, less real when all I can think about is Sandy's absence.

Yesterday, I had a flat tire as I was biking home from therapy. I'd been running late when I left the house, and I didn't have my wallet or a cell phone. So I couldn't call anyone for help and I couldn't catch a bus. I desperately wanted to borrow a passing jogger's phone and call Sandy, but I knew she wouldn't answer. This kind of crisis was her territory; she was always the one who stepped forward to handle mechanical issues. I tried to think what Sandy would have me do.

Here we are at Tour de Cure with Colleen in 2007.
It's the old bike rack, but she managed to get three bikes onto it
with confidence. I still watched the rearview mirror obsessively,
always sure the rack or a bike would bounce off into the street.

I hobbled the bike to an area that I expected to be well-lit, where there'd be a parking lot for the car when I came back to fetch it, and I locked it up. Then I hoofed it the five miles home, arriving shortly after nightfall (5:10 p.m.). Luckily, it wasn't raining. I drank some water, ate a few grapes, changed clothes, and grabbed the bike rack. Drove through the dark streets to where I'd left the bike. There was some light, but not much, and I had a hard time wrestling with the bike rack. Putting it on the car had been Sandy's job; I usually just tugged straps when she told me to. The hardest part was figuring out which hooks go where. But then I remembered that she'd sewn a "T" into the strap next to the hooks that go at the top, and I did manage to get the thing on the car, fairly secure.

I got the bike itself onto the rack and then drove cautiously home. Unloaded the bike and carried it into the house. So far, so good, but then I had to park the car. The school across the street was having an event, and after fifteen minutes of driving around the neighborhood, I found a spot in a two-hour zone four blocks away.

I was exhausted when I got home, and I knew how different my experience would have been if Sandy had been here. For one thing, I'd have remembered to take the cellphone, because I often called her to let her know I was on my way home. She'd either have fetched me with the car, or she'd have been home when I got there and taken charge of putting the rack on the car, etc. And if I'd had to do all of that myself, she'd have at least made me dinner and made soothing sounds.

I don't care for this new world. Not at all.