Dear Juliette,
Every second Sunday night, I struggle. After packing up your things and taking you back, I drive home with a lonely and heavy heart. When you stay with me, it’s a shot of emotion in my arm – we spend 48 hours talking, playing, walking, cooking and just spending time together. I walked in the door five minutes ago to see some magnets on the coffee table that we were colouring in. I see your blanket on the couch where we sat. I see the window cleaner on the window sill where you were cleaning the windows. It looks like you are still here – but you’re not.
This is the part I really struggle with. I imagine it’s like a come-down from a drug high, and I’m left feeling lonely and sad, a lot worse than before you were here. I try to find things to do, even to the point of driving home a longer route just to prolong having to sit here feeling this way. Thinking about having to go to work tomorrow depresses me, as does anything else for that matter.
Sometimes I think it’s just me. I’m too sentimental for my own good, and I can let my emotions get the better of me.
But then I realise, it’s just that I love you so, so much.
Love,
Dad