One week after the movers rolled grandma's piano up to a new wall ("Listen, guys, this is the only piece of furniture I really care about, OK?"), and I am sitting here watching Tinkerbell look out our new window. The Divorce Kitten is now a full-grown Divorce Cat, and soon she will just be A Cat. Our Cat, and a sweet one. Cleo is sprawled on the floor at my feet, and Leonardo click-clicks across the floor of every room, pacing with his terrier energy that even the hour walk we just took did not dissipate. He will make sure Frankie is in her bed, and then Annika, and then me. He likes the world to be in order, much like J, and he's a runner, too. The difference being that he comes back as long as you don't chase him. Also, it is totally socially acceptable to leave a leash on a dog at all times, just in case.
It's good that we've moved, because here is a place that I don't keep expecting J to turn up. Not that I actually did, anymore, but the brain is a funny thing and not always kind.
I have friends, mostly online, whose husbands left around the same time. Now I watch as some finalize their divorces, and some get back together. Some of my friends have already started dating again, and I think that must be nice. Because isn't that part of why people my age end up divorced? So that they can experience once more that rush of falling in love? And even if the divorce is not something I've chosen, I probably should look into that benefit to ward off the mopeys. But the fact that my primary identity is Mother means that I can't even imagine myself navigating those waters, or even launching myself from my barnacle-encrusted dock.
Not to mention the fact that I have two children attached to me approximately 90% of the time. But even that is improving. For the first time since November, the girls are back to sleeping in their own beds. Tinkerbell climbs the ladder to Anni's loft and curls up in her curly hair, and faithful Cleo snuggles next to Frankie. Leonardo snores loudly next to me. We are balanced in that way, all of us with our own places and our own wordless companions. Less hurt now, and dreaming what we dream alone. As we all do.