Thursday will be mine and my husband's 37th anniversary. Oddly, our being apart during the week has caused us to become even more protective of our time together. We stay cuddled on the couch, help each other with minor tasks just to be together, and scarcely can walk past each other without stopping to grab a hug or a quick kiss. I guess this is why I'm so sad that Daniel and Wendy are calling it quits so soon. (Their second anniversary would be Nov. 5.) They haven't been with each other long enough to get to the good part.
We talked to Daniel briefly today. Talking with him is walking on eggshells. There was a time when I'd ask about Wendy and he'd happily tell me everything they were doing--picnics, playing with the cats, fixing up something in their house. It's hard to believe they are so coolly just ending everything. Now we talk about other things, and it's like avoiding the elephant in the living room. It just makes me so sad, and of course, I worry about him. I worry about her, too. After all, for a few years, she was my daughter. I feel rejected, in a ridiculous way.
There's a line of storms coming through the area, no doubt bringing cooler temperatures. It is that time of the year.
I'll find out tomorrow night whether Betty's lost dog has returned. One of my favorite poems is Bishop's "The Art of Losing." I guess that poem is pretty relevant to Daniel and Wendy, too.
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