What this MISSUS MISSES

KERRE TRIES TO FILL THE WARM AND WELCOMING SPACE VACATED BY HER HUSBAND WHILE HE IS AWAY OVERSEAS

Icame home to an empty house last Monday. It’s the oddest feeling. If there is one thing that is consistent in this uncertain world, it is that I always have a husband to come home to.

When I worked nights, he was always there when I walked in the door just after midnight. And now I work afternoons, he’s always there too.

He starts work far earlier than I do and consequently finishes in the afternoon, so by the time I come through the door, the house is warm and welcoming, and I can relax knowing that everything and everyone is in their rightful place.

I had no idea how much I missed walking through the door and seeing him in his usual position, seated comfortably on the couch, headphones on, watching the latest news updates, until he wasn’t there.

In 20 years, he’s only been away a couple of times without me. And both of those times, my daughter was with me so I wasn’t alone. I’m lucky. He hasn’t run off with a Zumba instructor and I know he’ll be coming home on Friday after his conference in Australia has finished, so it’s not forever. It’s just that I’m the one who goes away and he’s the one who stays at home. He is my safe harbour, my rock.

I’m probably out three or four times a week with MCing jobs and catch-ups with friends. I go overseas to lead tours, for business or to visit my daughter – Tom stays at home. It suits us both. He’s not a fan of parties or functions and he never begrudges me my time with my old mates. Given the choice of coming with me or staying at home, he opts for the couch every time. So it was an unusual position I found myself in. It was a miserable day last Monday and the house was freezing when I walked in the door.

The heating system had died and no amount of me stabbing furiously at the control panel would get it to go. We no longer have a fireplace so I couldn’t make a fire. I put on one of Tom’s big woollen jerseys and felt very sorry for myself.

Mercifully, I was meeting one of my oldest friends for one of our regular catch-ups, so I wouldn’t have to stay in the cold house all night – but I was going to have to come home to one. Indeed, I had used Tom’s week away to schedule all sorts of activities.

On Tuesday night,

I had accepted an invite to a media function I would normally decline with regret – but my gorgeous young colleague, Mark, had persuaded me it would be fun to attend, so that was

Tuesday. Thursday night I was MCing a fundraiser for prostate cancer and on Friday, it was a catch-up with some of the women I’d toured overseas with.

Wednesday I had decided to spend home alone to prove that I didn’t need to fill my nights with endless socialising. It seemed pathetic to spend every night of the week out. So my diary was full and I knew the week would fly by, but still... I nuzzled my nose into the jersey and got a whiff of Tom’s aftershave, and counted the days until he’d be home.

‘ I’m the one who goes away and he’s the one who stays at home. He is my safe harbour, my rock’

As well as reading her column, listen to Kerre on Newstalk ZB, weekdays, noon to 4pm.