Lovers of the Undead in Southern Utah

A few months ago, Robert returned at the end of another long, exhausting, frustrating day at work. His face and demeanor were bravely trying to keep an upbeat attitude about the general hopelessness he clearly felt. As we talked about his day, he used all the familiar words from the past months as he attempted to make light of his misery. I watched him talk for a moment and as I listened, my heart pounded in my chest and my hand reached across the table for his.

He looked at me with no smile, no light in his eye.

Do you know my husband? Robert, of all people, has a light in his eye. He is the man who cheerfully washed dishes at my restaurant so that he could spend time with me while I waited tables. He hummed songs as he scrubbed toilets so that his children could eat when he was in school. He enjoys work. And now, his job, the one he had trained and studied for over the course of our entire 13 almost 14 year marriage, had extinguished it.

He (we) had chosen unwisely, and until that moment a few months ago, I tried to ignore it.

When I finally vocalized what we both knew, "Robert, you hate your job," I watched a weight lift off his shoulders and the stress dissipate ever so slightly.

"I do, I really do," he sighed. Admitting you have a problem is half the battle.

"Find a new one," I told him.

And so he has.

Over the weekend, as I accompanied him on his latest trip, I saw the spring return to his step.

I witnessed the light reignite from within my beloved.

He is positively glowing at the prospect of moving to St. George.

Stella said tonight "I hope there are a lot of girls in St. George who like zombies."

I'm sorry if this is how you are finding out that we are moving. I don't have an excuse for that.