I’m sitting in the break room in complete solitude. This is one of those days where the silence makes me feel crazy. One hand clinched around my drink and the other on my straw, moving it up and down, just to listen to the squeaky sound it makes.
I don’t want to go home. My house feels cold. My bed feels cold. This house is no longer a home. It’s just four walls, and a roof.
She’s gone. I miss her so much. I feel lost. I feel alone. I feel confused. I don’t really know how I’ll live without her here. I think about that cheesy song “don’t know what you got, til it’s gone.” I think about what kind of parent I’ll be without her. Can I do this on my own?
I know you haven’t been gone long, and I know you’re coming back soon. I know that I’m sensitive. I know that I’m sappy. But when the other half of me is gone, I feel it. This page isn’t long enough to tell you how much I love you. I cannot wait until you come home.