Waiting and Missing and Lost

My wife and I married six months ago. It was spring, the flowers were blooming, the sun would peak between showers, and we were walking into something that neither of us thought possible.

Both of us were in a transition in life. She was still walking away from cooking and trying to find a job that could fulfill happiness and work for her. I was finding myself more and more dissatisfied with customer service. We both decided to come back from our honeymoon with all the inspiration to figure out what we wanted to do.

We got a sign when she accepted a job an hour and a half east of Portland. She would have to work for two months before it could be permanent and then Rufus and I can follow her out.

Now, I’m not going to lie, a few days alone sounded nice. I would eat junk food and watch stupid shit on TV or play video games. I thought that two months would be quick, and we would be living in the Dalles before we knew it.

I have never missed anyone more in my life.

When we got married, I noticed a difference in how I felt about her immediately. The next day in fact. There is something about the ritual of marriage that had altered our reality. It is different than being a cohabitating couple. It is a comfort and terror I will never be able to explain.

She is my every day. We go through life together now. We are legally, spiritually, and emotionally bound together. We figure things out. We solve problems. We create new rituals and ways that are different from our families.

In Jewish mysticism, there is a belief that souls were cut in two and we spend our lives looking for our other half. If this is true, Nicole and I have joined our one soul to become one person, and now it aches because she is so far away.

It’s not this terrible heartbreaking sadness of being alone. I know that she is somewhere in the world doing stuff. I sometimes get comfort knowing she is driving around somewhere. She likes to go and do things. She goes to stores and the mall and is always looking for things. She will get an idea of a thing in her head and go look for it. I like picturing her driving around looking for this thing.

It is this feeling like I am lost. Rufus and I wander around the house and it seems like the house is too big. Rufus’s nails echo louder on the wood floors. Completely mundane things have happened, and she isn’t there to tell it to. I am stuck inside my head.

It doesn’t help that we are about to share this house together in a valley of cherry trees in the Columbia Gorge. We are going to live together without any roommates. We are going to have our stuff on the walls and on bookshelves and in drawers. We will have a whole house to ourselves. We are going to sit through winter together on the east slope of Mount Hood. We will have Christmas together at our house. I am actually looking forward to a Christmas!

Until then, I miss her. It’s weird to be alone. I’m married and my wife is on the other side of a mountain range from me.

I still sleep on my side of the bed. Rufus still sleeps as close to me as possible, and now my roommate’s cat is mad at them, so she has been sleeping on my head. That still leaves this entire side of the bed that is empty.