In one way, it’s nice to return to normal. I mean, of course. It’s very comfortable, very familiar, to have my place to myself.
But also, it’s strangely quiet. Strange not to have S here. Strange not to check on another person, strange not to pass through and ask if anything is needed. No tea to make (unless I want some.) No bottles of Boost to shake and open, to make easy for S to open them whenever she might want them (even if I’m asleep or somesuch). No beds to make up (again, other than mine). And while neither one of us would be likely to care if I didn’t, I was more inclined to make her room welcoming than I am to bother beyond the basics about mine.
I’m never in it but to sleep, you see.
She’s gone home now.
It’s quiet. Strangely quiet.
The first night, I was restless, listening to make sure she was okay before I remembered that she’s home and of course she’s okay and has already let me know that she’s settled in, successfully showered, in PJs, making herself at home in her home.
Which, might feel both strangely quiet and homey, for her too.