It’s been over two months since I’ve seen his face…. weeks since I’ve heard his voice.
Do you know what it’s like to be that separated from your husband? That cut off? To have that kind of distance between the two of you?
I’ve forgotten what he smells like.
I have to concentrate on pieces of him–his hands, or his knees, or the crinkles at the edges of his eyes to really see what he looks like in my mind’s eye.
I am thankful for emails and the pieces of him that I see only in writing that I can fall in love with all over again.
But I miss him.
Just when I think I’ve found the ‘steady ground’ that they say always comes during a deployment eventually I find myself driving the windy-dark road to the hospital down the island again.
This time it’s another round of mastitis and the only reason I had to drive south was because of the frustrating policies and downed computer system of the base Urgent Care Clinic.
The ER down island has started to recognize my face… or maybe it’s my harried arms laden with kids and the supplies I lug with me to keep them satisfied. I have a favorite doctor there now. He has feet that turn out and he’s young and has kids. He’s kind and compassionate but also quick and efficient. He fought to get a smile out of Lainey when she was sapped of hydration, energy, and the sparkle in her eye. He had me discharged last night before I was ever even officially checked in. I have antibiotics now and the energy will come back… eventually.
The days are long and neither wholly good, or wholly bad. When he is gone it feels as though the good things are only half as good and the bad things are twice as bad, but that doesn’t mean it’s all doom and gloom.
Today Lainey was dancing for me. She turns little circles with her hands out stretched and squats her little butt up and down. She’s trying on Daddy’s hat and she has this little grin and giggle that melts my heart. These are some of the highs.
We went to Safeway because for whatever reason any time one of us gets sick we run out of milk and basic necessities. Abigail had a class four meltdown that started over on the far bread aisle… And lasted clear to the opposite end of the store in the produce aisle. No one glared at me, but several older ladies tried to help and smiled and said encouraging things to me. The ones who were annoyed apparently just avoided our aisle entirely. At several points I was carrying her as she writhed and kicked and yelled about how I was hurting her (I wasn’t). All I knew was I drug myself out of the house with mastitis and I was going to get my milk and bananas and tomato bisque soup even if it was the end of us both. Lainey sat happily in the cart and smiled at people, which is perhaps, why people were so nice to us. These are some of the lows.
I miss little luxuries like being irritated at my husband and having someone to say, “I’ll take the kids to swimming tonight, love. You’re sick and need to rest.” And also I miss the place on his shoulder where my head fits perfectly.
It’s long and it’s lonely and it’s mundane and it’s every day life existence. I try not to whine too much to friends on the phone or in person (I save that all for the blog apparently!).
I giggle with the girls and we read The Lion the Witch and The Wardrobe before bed and the snuggling up and quieting down does us all good.
These are my days. I try to frame them in gratefulness and keep my wits and my perspective about me.
They are long days all with their highs and lows and all with their hard and their beautiful.
Each one is another day closer to seeing him and holding him again.
These are my days.