Today I have had a preview of what it will be like when she goes. A reminder of life "on one's own" with nothing in particular to do, no-one to see. I remember it well from 10 years ago, in another place.
My wife went off at lunchtime with the children to see a lady friend of hers near London and to take them to the circus, possibly the cinema. They are not yet back.
I was hoping to try to see one of my brothers, who himself is going through a divorce process at present, to drown in our mutual sorrows. Talking to him and seeing his situation, actually "picks me up" would you believe? A great pair we would make around the dinner table!
His situation is worse than mine - his wife (who is French) wants to go off to France with their two children, to be close to her particular Mr Lost that she also found through the Internet. He's been off work on doctor's orders, stuffed full with anti-depressants. He finds it hard to sleep (on the couch). He could hardly find the energy to speak with me on the telephone, never mind get himself out of the house, he was so "tired".
I would have gone round to pick him up (about an hour and a half from here). But he declined. I went for some retail therapy instead and tried him again later in the afternoon. Still the same. I contemplated the idea of "going for a drink" on my own, but past memories told me it was too sad an option, so I decided to come home and talk to you kind people instead.
As I sit here, the following song by Burt Bacharach and Elvis Costello came to my mind. I'd like to share the lyrics with you at least, as you cannot hear my playing it on the piano:
This House Is Empty Now
Words and Music by Burt Bacharach and Elvis Costello (from the Album "Painted from Memory")
Copyright 1998 NEW HIDDEN VALLEY MUSIC and SIDEWAYS SONGS
These rooms play tricks upon you.
Remember when they were always filled with laughter?
But now they're quite deserted.
They seem to just echo voices raised in anger.
Maybe you will see my face reflected there on the pane -
in the window of our poor, forlorn and broken home.
Still this house is empty now.
There's nothing I can do make you want to stay.
So tell me how, how am I supposed to live without you?
These walls were lined with pictures.
Remember the glass we charged in celebration?
But now I fill my life up with all that I can to deaden this sensation.
Do you recognise the face fixed in that fine silver frame?
Were you really so unhappy then? You never said so.
This house is empty now.
There's nothing I can do to make you want to stay.
So tell me how, how am I suposed to live without you?
Oh, if I could just become forgetful when night seems endless.
Does the extinguished candle care about the darkness?
It's funny how my mem'ry will bring you so close then make you disappear.
Meanwhile, all our friends must choose who they will favour, who they will lose.
Hang the garland high or close the door and throw away the key.
This house is empty now.
There's no one living here you have to care about.
This house is empty now.
There's nothing I can do to make you want to stay.
So tell me how, how am I supposed to live without you?
