Sitting in bed tonight with the light turned out, the
enormity of it washed over me like a tidal wave of concrete, like being buried
alive: for the first time in 28 years, I can’t reach Robert. He is nowhere.
There’s no cell number to call, no hotel that can put me through to his room,
no flight landing in two hours carrying him safely back home. I can wait at The
Shed all day and he won’t show up. 28 years. There should have been 20 more.
I wonder if he ever guessed that the same pain that drove
him to do this would simply pull up stakes and move in with me?
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