At last I am home from a long and busy day. Late in the day I felt myself steeped in sorrow. I wanted to get in my van at the end of the school day and cry, but instead I listened to music with my son as he fell asleep on the drive home, and my throat closed up. I realized at some point that today is Good Friday, and I began to wonder if the old emotion was returning. Perhaps, perhaps not.

I found my way to a special Friday Somerville Quaker Meeting just in time, after dropping off my son and releasing some of my angst with him, perhaps against my better judgment. To my great relief, the Meeting was lovely. We got to know one another, shared some tea and bread, shared parts of our day and other thoughts, some about Good Friday, Easter, belief, questioning, spirit, politics, culture, affiliation, finding home, all things I have been craving to talk about so long and didn’t know how or with whom. After many years alone in the spiritual desert, I find myself here in the midst of folks who think much like I do, or who at least welcome me where I am. That is a great relief.

At home, however, I find the cat desperate for some attention, the lights out, the dishwater in the sink from morning. My children are with their dad. There is no one else at home. Even though I spent the day with people, my son and his friend this morning, the kids and staff at school all day, my son again on the way home, then the Quaker folks for  the evening, I have not yet learned to live without sharing the day with someone dear, nor saying good night. That perhaps is the place I find myself when I come here.

Hello, how was your day? Good night, I’ll see you in the morning. Such simple words people who live with companions take for granted and those who live alone must either learn to live without or ask of themselves or what? Someday, perhaps I’ll learn not to need them, but for now I’m searching for a way to get them back.