Tonight I miss my husband.
I’m here blogging instead of going to bed. I don’t want to face the thought of slipping underneath the covers without him there to hold me.
I ache to talk to him for longer than a few minutes here or there. I want to share the details of my day with him, and the cleanup of the kitchen.
It’s been two weeks since our ‘last day’ with him and that is encouraging in some ways… That’s two weeks we don’t have to do again. But even for this ‘short one’ there are still so many more days left to cover.
We stay busy, and I have immersed myself in looking forward to the smallest things. The next meal, or a special treat, a trip to a special place with the girls, or an excursion to go buy ourselves something special. I even look forward to the time each night when I turn on my trusty old West Wing DVDs and I savor a bit of ‘grown-up TV time.’
I’ve gotten myself involved in a few big projects, set some goals, and done all the things I’m supposed to do to make the time go faster. To make myself forget that I miss him.
But I do still miss him. I still want his hand to hold. I still want his eyes to look into. I still want to fall into his hug at the end of the day.
I want to share the laughing with him. I want to cry on his shoulder. I want to see him light up with delight at the joy our daughters bring him, and I want to share a little of the weariness and frustration that come along with the job of parenting too.
I want him. Plain and simple.
I don’t want to have to wait another second longer. But I will. Because waiting is how I love him right now.