Was thinking about this the other night. I ran out on a little trip by myself. Now, since the First Reader joined me in Texas, we've been going everywhere together if at all possible. Walking hand-in-hand over to the mailbox. Driving to the grocery, even if it's curbside pickup... we were apart for too long to take any little moments for granted. This particular one, though, he really didn't feel up to coming along (I was going to thrift a couple of sweaters, since almost all of mine have gone AWOL in the move). So off I bopped on my own. For eight long months, I hadn't had him there waiting at home, but as I was driving, I was pondering how it felt to know he was there, and would be there when I got back, and I realized I felt tethered, like a balloon grounded against drifting off aimlessly into the wind.
It's not like being tied down. I can go do what I need to do, or want to do, and I can go alone. I've been tied down. That's not this... and it's interesting to look at it and know the difference. Perhaps the better analogy would be of a boat at anchor. I'm not feeling adrift and in danger of washing up on rocks at any minute with no rescue nearby. He's my anchor, and if I get into rough waters, he's going to help me get out again.
I realize I'm being soppy. I started writing this a month ago, and stopped, and came back to it because even after a month, I still feel it. Treasuring all the time we have left, and feeling it run through my fingers like sand.
The tether doesn't go on forever. It will snap, and fly away into the void, and I'll be left here. Sucked into the dark rapids of the unknown, where the water growls and the undertow pulls... I've swum rapids. It's not safe. I've clipped on the rope, checked my harness, and trusted someone else with my life, shouting 'on belay' as I stepped over the edge. Going it alone is dangerous, and I can hear the rope hissing through the metal, and the end sounds like it's nearer every day.
I'm hanging onto what's left, until the rope plays out in my hands.