March 7, 2008

• So Much More to Say

  (Disclaimer: a friend told me to pour my heart out on these pages, not to keep my feelings hidden on my private xanga. So here they are for all to see. Take it as you will.)

  It’s been days since I spoke to him, and yet I’m attempting to keep the panic and heart break out of my voice when I speak, out of my eyes when I look at his family.  I hug the kids a little too tightly hoping some of his past hugs will squeeze out into them and they’re clearly getting tired of me smothering their faces with my lips. 

  I only feel this way at night. It’s the reason I can’t sleep. My insomnia aides in a late night and my son provides me with unrealistically early mornings. When midnight comes and I see the empty pillow next to me, when there’s no one there to kiss goodnight it hurts deep inside my chest much deeper than a physical pain. I’ve never realized just how much  I depend upon him to sit next to me. Feeling his presence in the room has never meant so much and I wonder how I was so strong and confident before we were married. Was there always a gaping hole in my chest and I was simply blind to it? How did I manage to remain so successful, so busy, so seemingly happy before my husband and I married? I remember being a confidant woman who depended solely upon herself to make her future happen. So now, why do I feel broken? Why do I feel like I shouldn’t fall asleep only to wake up alone tomorrow?  I only feel this way at night when I can hear my loneliness in my ears.

  The day time is fine. My kids sit beside me and I busy myself with cleaning up after them and reading Dr. Seuss to Caitlyn. I tickle Aidan and marvel at how grown up he’s becoming and how much his smile belongs to his father. Their laughter and screams dilude the sound of my aching heart and although I complain of how my hands are so full, I wouldn’t change it. I know women have done this for centuries and with less means of technology to contact their spouses beforehand. I realize just how lucky I am to hear from him even once a week, but it doesn’t make the pain easier. When the mate to your soul is gone, a phone call won’t fill the void. You can feel it as though a physical pressure is bearing upon your chest.

  Derek called tonight, but only for a few minutes. He wanted me to know that he was safe and to hear how the kids were doing. I only asked God to give me a few minutes more on the phone, but I’m selfish. It wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t have been enough if we’d had 50  minutes, I’ve got so much more to say. It won’t be enough until he’s home in my arms. And even then, will I fully appreciate him? I notice his absence now and how much it means to me, but how long will it take after he returns for me to take his presences for granted again?  

  • 12:29 am
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