(21) him

I crawl into bed beside him and the wave of emotion comes rushing back with the choking tearful feeling rising in my esophagus. I thought I’d worked through this already tonight, goodness.

He has my heart, I guess. Those expressive eyes (which I just realized are brown like mine…how had I not noted this detail?), the hands that shake when he’s hungry, the attentiveness with which he tackles a game or a project or a conversation, the sweetness of his listening, listening, listening to the analyzing, the ramblings, of his wife.

What will it feel like to not touch him, to not be with him in person, for months and months on end? I know military families do this all the time. This might be the only time we face it, I must count my blessings.

I worry too much, I am sure. But when I can miss his presence, the opportunity of deeper conversation, the simple intimacy of a hug, of two hands holding after just a day or two without it, a year apart feels unbelievable, unbearable.

His breathing is steady, even, with a little whistle on the inhale. I like his company, even when he’s just sleeping. I’ll miss you, baby. Tonight I miss you already.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s