People ask me about my days.  Lonely.  I have many lonely days, yet, not in the sense that one may imagine.  I am not lonely from being by myself, nor in the sense of inactivity.  The irony is that my days are filled with multiple activities, but they are not complete.  At the end of the day, I don’t sense conclusion.  On the contrary, I am filled with an indescribable sensation of searching.

Lonely.  Here is my definition.  Lonely is the awareness of never again asking Shawn what time it is.  Lonely is the consciousness of now being the driver instead of the passenger in our car.  Lonely is the altered feeling of my children not experiencing Shawn’s embrace.  Lonely is the knowledge that Shawn will not be here to discern parenting issues with me.  Lonely is the hopeless understanding that I will never kiss him again.  Lonely is the wakeful reality that we won’t have anymore midnight conversations of our future dreams and ambitions. 

Lonely is a desperate word.  It is the impression of sleeping without achieving restfulness, the fear of giving without being satisfied and the dread of living without accomplishing contentment.

Not all days feel so desolate.  But, there isn’t one day that I don’t wish I could reverse the irreversible.  Not all days are isolated.  But, there isn’t one day that I don’t crave to share my life with Shawn.  Not all days are solitary.  But, there isn’t one day that I don’t feel lonely.

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