Without

I spent several hours at school yesterday.  I cleaned and rearranged.  I puttered and planned.  I wrote lessons for Monday and made a spreadsheet for next fall.  I tried to feel myself within those four walls again and tried to remember who I am as a teacher.  

I return to work tomorrow.  Easing back into the feel of it, I will be there three days this week, four the next.  With the help of my therapist, I have planned the day.  Hoping to keep my anxiety at bay and the tsunami of emotions under control, I have laid out my clothes, written out the schedule and all but packed my lunch.  Dinner ingredients are ready in the fridge and my headsets are charged and ready for a walk or time on the elliptical, or whatever my body needs at the end of the day. I have some coping strategies and breathing techniques at the ready.  The plan is in place and ready to go.

But the truth is, I’m not worried about teaching, I’m not worried about getting the kids back into my routine. I don’t feel anxious about seeing colleagues or even figuring out the new behavior plan or the accommodations some of my students now require. I know the kids will be happy to see me and I know that overall the day will go smoothly and without incident. I know there will be difficult emotions to deal with throughout my day; things will arise that will give me pause and cause me heartache for sure.

What makes me sick to my stomach with dread and fear, however, is the thought of coming home.  James was always home at the end of my day.  Always.  On nice days he would have already finished his outdoor chores and would meet me on the porch with the dog where we would sit and talk for hours.  On cold or rainy days he would be in the kitchen, already prepping dinner, oftentimes with a glass of wine already poured for me, waiting.  I would sit at the counter and talk about the day and he would listen and listen.  Our whole evening would be spent together.  

But not tomorrow.  Not ever again.  

Tomorrow is another step forward in my life without James.  For some, returning to work is cathartic, helpful, healing even.  But for me, the day results in unavoidable pain.  An agony I wish I could get around without going through.  

Tomorrow, I will teach.  But at the end of the day I will be learning new ways to move forward in a world without him.  A lesson I’d rather not learn at all.