You would think that, at some point in your life, you would grow up. I wonder what it takes? I wonder what it is for others to be “grown up”?

I am not incapable and, as an adult of some advanced years, I can DO things. It’s not as if I’m helpless.

And yet ……

I dropped him at the station. We were early. Of course we were early. For he is worse than me when it comes to public transport.

“I will wait with you”, I had said.

But no, it was not necessary.

“But I can help you with your suitcase. Lift it onto the train for you. With your bad back, it will be better.”

“And who will help me in Milan”, he said, dismissing my argument.

I tried to suggest that, by me helping here and after over 3 hours relaxing on the train, he would, maybe, have a better back. But it came out mumbled and wrong. I was incoherent putting my clear thoughts into words that he would understand.

I offered to stay a few more times but he was having none of it. And my arguments were weak.

He stopped the car and got out, opening the boot. I got out and got his suitcase out.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to wait with you?”, I asked.

No, I should get back and go to the beach. There was, apparently, no reason for me to stay.

“I would wait with you because I love you”.

There, finally said. The only reason. He kisses me on the lips.

And then he walks away.

And every time he’s not there leaves a hole as if I’m not quite whole without him.

I drive back and, suddenly, everything I do in this strange and foreign land is a battle, something where I must force myself into action.

When I get back home, Dino looks past me as I open the door. Looks past me to F, who isn’t there. It’s as if I’m not quite good enough, as if it’s all not quite complete. Which, of course, it isn’t. And Dino knows that well enough.

I come to the beach. People greet me as I come or, later, as I’m sitting here, reading my book or typing this, as they come.

But it’s not the same.

Tonight I have some leftovers from our lunch at his Mum and Dad’s (our first meal there this holiday – but that’s another post) and I have wine and the dogs.

He has suggested that I take a walk to the centre of the town (and, yet, here it’s not a town – more like a really large village or a suburb – even if there’s a castle tower in the centre) with the dogs, like we often do, and buy an ice-cream and take them for a while in the newly discovered and rather nice dog area.

But these things frighten me. Not so that I won’t do it but enough to make it doubtful. For there I will have to interact and I don’t have his charm or style. Or language, of course.

If I were about 5, I am sure I would wail and howl with this feeling of abandonment, with this feeling of being so alone.

But that’s quite stupid, as I well know. I can get by. I can walk the dogs this evening and get and ice-cream. But it all takes such an effort and such resolve by me to do even the simplest thing.

Without him.

And yet ……

I am not a child.