For the past week, Jason has been by my side.   He’s slept in my bed.   Drove with me in my (mom’s) car.  We went to the Indiana Museum together,  had dinner, and played putt-putt.

Today, he headed back on Southwest going southeast – returning to TPA – returning to St. Pete – returning to a ‘our’ house…  a two bedroom/one bath that I can barely remember and haven’t been in for over a year and a half.  It’s a place that I think has blue kitchen walls.  It might have a solid wood dining room table.    It could have a television hanging on display in the living room.

I lived there, with Jason, for nearly 15 years… I believe.  It was a proud house that became an unwilling setting for the nightmare our lives spiraled into.  We lived.  We loved.  We laughed.  I attempted to grow flowers and he pretended he could fix the roof.  I would do the laundry and he would make the bed and, on occasion, attempt to cook… so precious.  =)  … He actually got to be pretty good.   Don’t knock it.   Guys can do something more other than grill.

Now, he’s returned alone to the house — a house his mom fondly dubs ‘the morgue.’  He’s out from under my Hoosier roof.   He’s gone from my Indiana bed.  No longer will he fear the ‘mushmellon.’  I will not see him for… who knows how long.

Even as we parted, I didn’t even understand that he was gone, at least not on a fundamental level.  This morning, I knew he was going to go.  We said our good-byes several times.  He hugged my sister and even cried a little —  and even during all of this, it didn’t dawn on me that he was really leaving — until he past the area of no return checkpoint.   I watched him walk down the hall.   I saw him enter the security line and waited until his dark hair and blue shirt blended in with the crowd.

And then, and only then, did it occur to me that he wasn’t coming back home with me.  He was going to the morgue.   He wasn’t living with me, but in a place unwittingly became part of a twisted prison.    And, now, it’s his.  He’s all alone.  Again.

My magical and mental disbelief didn’t allow me to cry.   I shed no tears when he left.  As Amanda and I made our way from Indianapolis discussing Gencon impressions, I thought he would be the back seat pretending to listen- – although I knew he wasn’t.  I half expected him to help with the bags, but no…    And when I came into my room, I knew I was going to be alone tonight.   He won’t be here to help me sleep and I won’t be there to help him.

It’s just odd.
Together.  Apart.
—  Twenty years and running.  Our lives are on hold but somehow moving forward.   I don’t understand.   A divorce.   A death.  That would make clear break, but not this type of half-life/half-love.

For some reason, I don’t quite comprehend.

All I know is my Floridian is gone again.