By Saturday afternoon, I hadn’t seen Robin in two days. I had talked to her on the phone, but visiting hours at the hospital were very limited. However, Saturday evening offered a ninety-minute window to visit. I was both craving and dreading her arrival. Turns out I was right to be afraid ….
Killing time in the common room waiting for Robin. The TV in the background is at full volume blaring a stupid Housewives show. Ugh. The level of stir crazy I’m experiencing is intense.
I miss you so much. 6:30 can’t come fast enough.
tick … tock … tick … tock … tick … tock …
Robin visited, and it was bittersweet. So good to see her, yet so much of what she had to say hurt.
No more pretending. We are splitting up, divorcing, and I will be expected to move out of the house upon release. I tear up just writing it. This will be the hardest thing I will ever have to do in my life. I will fight to stay in the home as long as possible, but I will eventually have to leave.
Holy fuck, it hurts to think about it.
Still feeling a lot of sadness over last night’s visit. She does not love me the way I love her and I cannot force her to. It sucks.
Still dwelling on Robin. About how it isn’t fair, how I didn’t get another chance, how she didn’t come for me on the bridge, how she didn’t put any thought into the clothes she brought me. Does she really care so little for me? Did she ever? She didn’t even think about what I’d need in here. She never thought it was important, I guess. Has she always thought so little of me?
Note on that last entry: I had asked Robin to bring me some changes of clothes when she visited Saturday. For some inexplicable reason, she packed me only one change of pants, three shirts, and seven pairs of dress socks. She said later that she was in a hurry and wasn’t thinking, but at the time it felt like a slap to the face.
That was Saturday. Sunday, my parents were coming to visit, and I was going to tell them EVERYTHING. Next time …