As we were getting ready to go to sleep last night, Husband said “I love you.” I, of course, replied with my normal, “I love you, too.” But in my head, without even thinking about it, I reflexively added the word, “much.”
I just hate having to miss him so much when he’s gone.
It’s not true of course. I couldn’t possibly ever love him too much. But when he’s getting ready to leave and I think of those months without him and how much it will hurt to miss him, well, a little part of me wonders if maybe I should have married a jerk so I’d be happy to send him off on all of these little adventures.
It doesn’t work that way of course, and I am delighted to be so happily married to a man who still makes my heart skip a beat, who exhibits such patience and kindness daily, who is a wonderful father, and is both functional and decorative to boot.
We’re down to the last few days before he goes. I want them all to last as long as possible, but this is the point where I also start to think, “Ok. Just leave already so I can start the countdown that works toward your coming home and not leaving.” In general I like happy anticipation better than gloomy dread.
My Mom always used to say, “Tis the attempt, not the deed that confounds us.” That’s me in a nutshell. With most anything difficult or intimidating I stew and worry and lament for weeks beforehand and then when I finally get to the task I just do it. I hope it will be that way this time too.
For these next few days, though, I’ll be on planet “Don’t go/Get this over with.” I’ll be hating that he’s leaving us, wanting to just hold him in my arms and not let him cross the room, much less go to the other side of the world, and adding the word “much” to all of my “I love you too’s.”
I’m just grateful to have married a husband and father so wonderful that it hurts this much to have him away from us.