We get just snatches of time.

No time at all, really.

I had gone to bed late, not really wanting to be in bed at all. But, I thought, a doze might be useful.

He arrived sometime after midnight. I didn’t check the clock. He’d brought some hot cross buns and some Cadbury’s creme eggs and a Shaun the Sheep for me. Bless him.

The dogs went crazy, of course. We didn’t really talk. How can I bring up this subject within seconds of him walking through the door? I give him a hug but he doesn’t seem to respond. He’s a bit stiff. He lets me do it but I get the feeling that, right now, he doesn’t want to “let go” for fear that he would follow through with a breakdown. And, as usual, he’s being “strong”. It’s OK. I understand.

I found it more difficult to get to sleep. Not really wanting to sleep when I knew that it would only be a few hours until he left again. For how long? I don’t know and neither does he.

Eventually he turned the TV off and we both tried to settle. It was at least 1.30 a.m. He was going to take the dogs out this morning. He had a pilates lesson at 8. I knew he hadn’t slept much the night before, whilst he was in London. I offered to take the dogs out this morning – several times. But I didn’t insist as he only had this short time with them and I know how much he misses them.

He got up just after I did. As I was finishing my coffee, he was back and while I washed up, he fed them. My eyes are red and sore. I probably had about 4 hours sleep. Probably he had less.

Then we talked briefly but without saying much. We talk round the subject not of the subject. I asked him if he knew when he would be back, just in case he had some appointment arranged and so I wouldn’t be surprised by an unexpected return. He said he might be back on Saturday or Sunday.

Of course, it’s all “maybe” now. In one way, of course, it would be so much better if it all happened sooner rather than later. PaC is in hospital. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s to control the pain or maybe something else but I’m fairly sure we’re talking a matter of days rather than weeks or months now.

I don’t want to ask too much in case he doesn’t know. I know that can be very annoying. At the same time, he doesn’t really go into detail, even if he knows. I try to gently prise the information out. It’s the best I can do. I try to support. I try to do things so that he knows I’m supporting him. I think he does.

And, meanwhile, we get moments of time. Snatches. Like stolen moments, as if we shouldn’t even have them. It is better than nothing but not enough. But it will have to do. And I won’t press for more. It’s not the time for that and I’m sensitive to that.

I send everyone my love. We’ll speak by telephone later. But that isn’t one of those snatches. That won’t be “real” time. The next snatch of time might not be until Sunday evening.