Journal of a Living Lady #37

Nancy White Kelly

Buddy left me last week. I will never be the same. In our nearly thirty-five years of marriage, we have seldom missed sharing the same bed at night. The few times we have been separated were mainly forced upon us. Mostly we were apart due to illness. While hospital beds aren't meant for sharing, often we have managed to snuggle side-by-side with the bed rails up. We are a two-some, period.

Since the recurrence of cancer, Buddy has become ever-present, day and night. Sometimes that is a minor annoyance, but I know too many women who would love to have my problem.

Buddy has a 97-year-old mother in Mississippi. Though reasonably healthy, his sister says she is beginning to wilt at a fast pace. At my insistence, Buddy went to visit her. After losing my own mother a year ago, I know how important those potentially last visits are. I assured him I would be alright for a few days. I had plenty of oxygen on hand. My prescriptions were filled. Neighbors and friends were just a phone call away. Secretly I looked forward to being totally on my own for a few days.

Buddy was up at daylight on Tuesday. I fixed his coffee and made small talk while he double-checked his list. Flashlight. Vitamins. Shaving kit. Clothes. Money. With a kiss and a lingering wave, he was gone and I was alone.

For the first couple of hours, I leisurely enjoyed the newspaper and watched the morning news. I felt totally unencumbered.

My mind raced as I thought about all I could accomplish in Buddy's absence. I had endless projects that require hours of concentration. I would finally have unlimited time to master a new digital camera, catalog my paperweight collection, plus install some computer programs that have been sitting around for months.

Maybe I could even find time to outline a book. With Buddy constantly popping in and out of the bedroom and office, I can never find a sufficient span of time to indulge in long-term projects. You need to understand that Buddy has never been a loner. He HAS to have company to change a light bulb.

So here I was with five days before me. Other than my usual weekly responsibilities of writing a column and preparing a Sunday School lesson, I had 120 hours to do what I pleased.

Suddenly the power went out. No lights. No heat. No nothing. It was nearly noon and I needed electricity to accomplish the things on my list. I sat and waited, hoping it was only a momentary glitch. No such luck. In the semi-darkness, I dressed and waited impatiently. Not wishing to waste the rest of the day, I got into my car and drove. All those interesting little shops I had always wanted to visit lured me. After dark, I arrived home totally exhausted with nobody to scold me for over-doing myself or to bring in my loot. Where was Buddy when I needed him?

The electricity was back on, but one turn of the faucet brought despair. The well pump was off. It always quits when the electricity does. Buddy had shown me years ago how to get the well pump pressure up again, but was I supposed to remember? No flushing toilets. No coffee water. Where was Buddy when I needed him?

I locked both outside doors and put on the chains. I bolted the bedroom door and climbed into bed. I wrapped myself around two pillows, pretending they were Buddy. I had hardly closed my eyes when I heard something fall in the kitchen. I remained awake the rest of the night watching the door and clutching a 38 magnum revolver. Where was Buddy when I needed him so I could sleep?

Two different couples invited me for supper. The food and fellowship was good, but the absence of Buddy's dry wit and growing-up tales was noticeable to me. I felt like a widow.

A friend invited me to lunch on Thursday. I waited over an hour for her to come. She never did. She forgot me. Buddy has never forgotten me. Never.

Sunday afternoon, I anxiously went to the door every thirty minutes. Buddy was due home anytime. It didn't matter that I had gotten nothing grand accomplished during those five days.

All I wanted was Buddy, my buddy.

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email: nancyk@alltel.net web: https://www.angelfire.com/bc/nancykelly