Sundays

As far back as I can remember, I hated Sundays.  It meant from childhood that I had to go to school the next day, to as an adult, that I had to be ready to work for five more days.  The small excitement I felt every Friday that the weekend was here was gone.  Sundays meant my freedom was over and that the drudgery cycle started again of work, cleaning the house and bills.  Sunday's were a day to regroup, go grocery shopping, finish laundry and go to bed early.  It was the sacrifice day, all so I could organize myself with the illusion that I was in control of my time.

Since Dean died, Sundays have an all new meaning. From the moment I first wake up, I miss my husband.  Sunday was my sleep in day and he usually woke up first.  As I transitioned from sleep to being cognizant, I could hear the sound of dishes being clinked in the kitchen, the smell of coffee and Dean scooping the dog food into a bowl for Cady.  The quiet movements of his activities were like an alarm clock.  I instantly felt like I was missing out on life and would get up out of bed, shuffle through the living room and into the kitchen to be near him.  I quietly snuggled up to his back, while he was emptying the dishwasher to give him a hug.  He would slowly turn around and envelope me in a bear hug that gave me the feeling that all was right with my world.  Secure in the knowledge he loved me, I was ready to start my day.  Sometimes, he would bring me hot chocolate in bed and I would sip it and watch Saturday Night Live off the DVR, until I finally felt motivated to do something.

Most of the time, we would get dressed and go on a leisurely hike in the mountains.  It was the only day of the week Dean would slow down enough to relax.  I would make a big breakfast of bacon, eggs and waffles or we would hit the Pancake house early before the crowds.  From there, it was hiking with Cady, having a big mid day meal and watching a movie.  We would snuggle on the couch in our big TV room and read, play on our tablets or just talk and laugh.  It was the one day of the week I felt like he was mine for a moment.  He had a restless nature most of the time and would usually wander around the house, looking at gardening projects, cleaning the garage, working in the shop or tying flies.  But on those Sundays, he seemed calmer and content.  Sunday was still my least favorite day, but with Dean, it didn't matter so much.  Time together was all I wanted.

Sunday is the day I notice couples having those intimate moments that only two people connected and in love have.  So when I go out now, I can feel it when I look at the strangers walking, holding hands or doing things together.  And I miss...miss...so much.

Every once in awhile, I can smell the phantom whiff of coffee early in the morning when I first wake up.  I loved the smell of coffee but never drank it. I have not made it since he left.