Where’s that Time Machine?

time-machine-7

I always played that Pollyanna ‘glad game’. You know, that mental game you use to create something to look forward to each new day. It could be the smallest, most insignificant thing but it’s always something; something to help you anticipate the next day, the next week. And sometimes, in this crazy life, you need those little ‘somethings’ badly.

I won’t say Pollyanna has left the building but now I find her annoying and clueless. I can’t seem to play the future game now, even for the next morning. All I want to do is find a way back – back to when I could hear my husband turn his key in the door. I want to turn back the clock to see my man on the couch in his spot next to the end table, where he used to tease he had ‘squatter’s” rights.

I want to hop in a time machine so I can answer one of his many calls throughout the day, sometimes just to tell me he was leaving the office, ask what was going on in my world or if I needed anything from the store on his way home. I want to go back to what seemed only yesterday when he laughed sheepishly, hiding treats for grandchildren behind his back. I want to brainstorm a creative idea to my wedded business partner or beat him at our nightly crosswords.

I want, I want, I want . . . in vain. In one night, one hour, one lightening bolt to his chest, he was gone. An instant, a heartbeat or lack of one – that’s all it took for me not to even be able to say goodbye.

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