Several days ago my partner and I saluted our 30th year together. During those three decades we have been inseparable – to the point of working together in my law office when my former young assistant suddenly required a kidney transplant.

In the past 12 years since my retirement on March 1, 2014, my partner and I have established a routine of nonstop togetherness, traditionally spending the winter in the southern United States of America, the remainder in Canada.  Normally we are divided by an hour in the morning when each of us does a bit of exercise (I on my tricycle, he in the gym or walking outside) and several hours in the afternoon (during which I drive my car and he watches his favourite podcasts). Neither of us has many friends nearby (whom we otherwise see only infrequently). And if we do see friends, they are customarily mutual so we see them together,

Today however I am home alone. My partner has joined his eponymous nephew to watch two hockey matches in which other family members are participating. I can bear the deprivation of sports so I was not invited to join the outing.

Being alone is different.  Sitting – as is my custom – at my desk looking at the distant snow-covered fields and river gives a sense of desertion and unfamiliarity.  Everything is so still. There are no questions to ask; there are no comments to be made. There is no compensation for the abrupt disappearance of my partner. The walls of the tiny apartment seem to enlarge, pushing back from the centre of the room. Even without stimulation there is the impression of an echo and shadows in the hallway. The alternate perspective of emptiness is unforgiving.

In keeping with my infrangible routine and in an effort to seek profit from the psychedelic alteration, I removed myself from the cocoon and headed to the car in the subterranean basement. I thought to distract myself by switching from one platform to another, both equally favourable. It became a test of endurance. I questioned: “How far might I travel on 80% charge (395Kms)?”

First however I visited Spirit Leaf for “Balanced 10:10 Softgels” (my latest experiment with the erstwhile and nefarious additive for pain relief – and it is working without uncomfortable offshoot).

And then, of course, the car wash.  Afterwards I headed to Renfrew County where I turned around, reversing my identical path. I directed to points south of Ottawa to prolong the expenditure of electricity.  But I was wary of going too far, so I fashioned several calculations. Then I saw on the dashboard an exact account of the remaining distance, charge and time before returning home.

When I regained the apartment, there were immediate signals of isolation: no-one to greet me upon arrival; no aroma from the kitchen; no lights already illuminated.

Though I know this is a mournful look at a simple topic, I am speaking truthfully and without having to call upon the well-documented defence of “literary licence” when I say that the only thing more disturbing than the disappearance of one’s partner would be his reappearance as a ghost. Either way, I suppose, it is a haunting experience. While I am not terribly social, neither am I one who would say as the late L. C. Audette JD OC so often said, “I enjoy dining alone.  I have the best company – myself!”