I had a good day yesterday. The elephant in the room, my new spouseless life, went with me. There was music and friends. The day was cool. I walked around, had a beer. Or, two. It was two. And I enjoyed being outside. I’m going to do it again today. Except this time, I’ll start closer to home because my cousin’s husband is in a country band and they’re playing just down the street, and I can walk there.

As we went about our day, me and the elephant, I got to thinking about one of the things I miss in this new universe. And here it is. Knowing you’re wanted. For sure. And I know there are people I want to be with, and they want to be with me, but it’s always for a bit and then we go home. In the old universe, I knew, no matter how far away I went she was always there, waiting. For me. It was a constant. But now, rather than feeling like a moon circling a planet, I feel like an asteroid shooting through space on a long, lonely journey to nowhere.

It’s a weird sensation. Of course, even asteroids are circling something. It’s just harder to define. But you can bet there’s a big mass somewhere exerting a pull on them. In my case I suspect it’s family and friends and it’s nice to know, although it’s not quite the same as having that one person say, I’m with you. On the plus side, at least I had it, and that’s good. Because now I have those memories, and that’s a nice stabilizing pull as I make my way through the new universe.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale