Managing

Here's what you need to know: On Sunday, June 1st, I with both children in tow, drove my husband to the airport, watched him go through security, reloaded both children, exited the airport, drove to the viewing tower and stood watching, camera in hand, for his American Airlines flight to depart. Three weeks and two days later, here's what you need to know: I'm still waiting for his plane to bring him home.

Here's the background: In mid-April, Mike got this e-mail from his ME telling him about this great opportunity for a Fellowship. So Mike came home, we talked it over and I said, "Go for it. It's just six weeks ... I can hold down the fort for six weeks." So, he applied and was accepted. So, for about 2.5 weeks, we prepared for his departure: we went over our budget, we washed clothes, we folded clothes, we packed clothes, we packed laundry detergent, we packed soap & other toiletries. We were excited: Mike, to have this great opportunity, both professionally & personally; Me, well, I was excited for Mike and pretty anxious to prove to myself (and, let's face it, my parents & in-laws, too) that I could do better than manage - that we, the children & I - would thrive in his absence.

What I did not prepare for was this: My husband is my best friend. He is the one I scream at when I'm angry at him &/or everyone else; he's the one I cry to when my feelings are hurt & raw or I've read or seen something that makes my heart sad; he's the one I laugh with when I hear a great joke, story, or my children do something to make my heart happy. At the end of the day, he is the one I want to share my heart with, and when he's 2,000 miles away and you can't just stop washing the dishes to tell him that great/sad/funny/heart-wrenching/important/life-altering/or not important at all thing, it stinks.

So, I'm managing. I'm managing to pay bills (which I hate!), to vacuum, to mop, to sweep, to wash/dry & fold clothes (but not put them away ...); to clean out cars & wash them when its 90 degrees outside & humid; to drive 7 hours for a family reunion that lasts 2 hours; to feed & bathe 2 little ones who miss Daddy almost as much as Mommy misses him; to monitor the budget like it's my job (because it is); to not be consumed with worry about things over which I have no control (i.e.: the fires out west that Mike can smell when he walks outside his apartment in Reno or the abused children who've been placed with my friend for a season) ... And then, I manage, to not sob because my husband will come home to me, to us. On July 12 he will board a plane and fly to Philly to see a baseball game with the guys before driving home with Will to us on the 14th. But for so many wives, mothers, sons and daughters the one they are just managing without won't come home to them. I am ashamed to say that I don't know if I should feel guilty that Mike will be returning to us, or to just be thankful that this season of us being apart is almost over ... only 20 days more until he pulls in the driveway ...