What If, The First

The comically offensive dream about Jon preceded some nights of insomnia. And what better use of nocturnal waking than creating elaborate stories? That's what I always do. Always have. Can't help doing, in fact. Usually, it's one of my stories, my would-be but won't be novels. Those nights, I explored the questions raised by the dream. 

What would I do if Kevin died? (And may I take a moment to pause here and say that I really really really hope that he doesn't.)

At first, I confess to spending the life insurance money. Morbid? Maybe. Kevin and I often have similar discussions about how we'd spend our imaginary lottery winnings. I'd first pay off and then spruce up the house, getting it just the way I want. Pee-yellow tile in the bathroom? Not anymore! I'd get the yard landscaped professionally, with a blue spruce in front and flowers basically everywhere they can fit. I would pay tuition as I continue through school, getting marketable skills and whatnot for the eventuality of supporting my children by myself. (Dream big!) Luckily, the insurance money would grant enough breathing room for that to happen. 

Eventually, though, I'd have to work. And a nurse doesn't have the most flexible hours. Either I'd be in a hospital setting, doing twelve-hour shifts where I don't see my kids at all unless I work nights. And, what, leave them home alone? Or, I'd be in an office working 8-5 and leaving my kids to come home from school to an empty house every afternoon. 

What happens when Andrew starts seminary, and Matthew and Katie ride buses to different schools at different times? How would I get everyone out the door in the mornings? What happens when a kid is sick and needs a day at home? What happens when extracurriculars conflict? Would every meal be a choice between takeout and something microwaved? I'd have extended family around to help, but...

I don't want to be a single mother. 

I'd have to remarry. I pictured an arranged marriage--to a widower with his own kids, probably--and going through the ridiculous process of trying to become a blended family. In my house of course, because, flowers. I didn't fantasize about anything physical, except to wonder how awkward would it be to marry someone else. Would we decide to marry first and take our time building a physical relationship, or would we rip the Band-Aid off on the wedding night? So awkward.

But I did imagine other things, things we did together, he and I. We'd have to go grocery shopping together, because we each know what our own children will and will not eat. Same for making dinner. We'd work in the yard together, each kid getting their own garden box to cultivate for the summer. We'd go on family adventures to the mountains or maybe just the park, but together. Then, when we weren't together, he'd call, because he wanted to see me and wanted to be with me. 

That's when I jerked back from the daydream like from a hot stove, as though my innocent "what if" had mutated into a dark lust-filled fantasy. I felt overcome by guilt and shame. For what? For wishing that if I am widowed, left alone in this life, I can find someone who will want to spend time with me? 

I think it's because I wish I had someone who wants to spend time with me now, and somehow that felt traitorous.