I went to a painting class last week. I had not been to one since Sarah Jane was born and after some discussion with Mac, we decided that I should go. We thought it might relieve some of the mental blank I sometimes feel. My mum was delighted to be asked to have Sarah Jane and I knew that Sarah Jane wouldn’t mind the spoiling she would get, so I should have been able to go to the class and relax. It didn’t quite work, I still worried that I was a bad mother leaving Sarah Jane with someone but I am told that the guilt fades with time.

The class is a real mixture of women. I am the youngest, but the ages then spread through to the great grandma of the class who is almost 70. Some of the women have travelled extensively, and others have never been outside the UK. Some have the best of everything, all the paints, expensive brushes and well prepared canvases and some of the women just buy their art supplies from the cheaper bulk stores. Some are married and some divorced and one widowed. We all come from different backgrounds, have had different experiences and I don’t think any of us would be friends outside of class, yet in that class, we are all equals and we work together and encourage each other to produce the best. They welcomed me back into the fold with open arms. I truly felt that I had been missed.

This week in passing one of the women mentioned that her husband was away and how much she enjoyed having the bed all to herself for a change. Every other woman present sighed and wished that it was them. Except me. I do not like sleeping alone. I never have. Even when I was little, before I started school, I had a teddy bear the same size as me that I slept with every night. He was my company. And most nights, when I woke to the darkness, I would sneak into my parent’s or my sister’s bed. I like sharing my sleep. I get scared being on my own.

I mentioned to my classmates that I do not enjoy my husband not being in my bed and they laughed and said that we are still in the honeymoon period, that there would come at time when I would understand about sleeping alone. For a few days afterwards I wondered if it would change for Mac and I. Would we get to a point where we preferred to be sleeping alone?

I thought about my grandparents, both sets of them. I cannot remember my Dad’s parents ever sharing a bed, yet they must have as they had five children. When I think back on them I don’t remember them sharing a kiss, or even holding hands. I never saw them touch. I can’t remember any affection. Not even a smile that they shared. To me now, looking back, I wonder just how lonely they were sharing a house. To have no contact, no touching, no affection would make me fade away into nothingness very quick.

My mother’s parents were quite the opposite, sharing a bed right up until my Pop passed away. They would often hold hands, kiss, laugh, and I assume make love, at least he would joke about it and she would blush, which was as good as telling us. They loved each other fiercely, and now that he is gone, my Nan seems to have faded a little, like someone has switched off her shine. Every time I see her I know it was the light he shone on her she no longer has.

I sometimes do think that my life would be easier if I did not need as much contact as I do, if I could sleep easily on my own. Mac still travels (though not as much) and I still have trouble sleeping when He is gone. I cope without Him. I take cat naps when Sarah Jane sleeps through the day, but it is always a relief when He comes home to us. Mac watches the world for me. And when I do think it would be easier, I remember my Dad’s parents and how they lived for 20 years without affection and I know that I don’t want to ever be like that. I love the way Mac and I are entwined.

Last week Mac was away over night and when He arrived home, Sarah Jane and I were out taking a walk. He must have been watching for us out the window because He came out to us as soon as we entered the front garden.

“You’re home!” I stated the obvious when I saw Him.
He wrapped His arms around me and held onto me tight. “Now I am.” He whispered in my ear.

I knew exactly what He meant.

I don’t think that it has to change between Mac and me, not unless we want it to.

We won’t want it to.

That is just something I know.