You know, it’s strange how, when your husband is tasked to go away, it seems like your world is crumbling. It doesn’t seem to matter if it’s just a two-week class, or a four day conference, or overseas to war, the military has taught us spouses that goodbyes are like dagger-strikes to your heart, no matter how long or short.
I’ve been in mourning this entire week, to include nightmares of being forced to live without my husband. Couple that with pregnancy hormones, and you can only imagine the emotional tricks my mind is playing on me.
I just crumbled into tears loading the dishwasher, feeling overwhelmed by the messes surrounding me that the kids have made, suddenly feeling so very alone, and unwilling and able to lift a finger. (And he’s not even gone yet, but my mind, heart, and body are preparing.)
I know that I’m being a ridiculous baby about this, but, in the same respect, it’s this scared-of-being-a-widow feeling that forces us to live the way we do – this no-holds-barred, everyday-is-our-last kind-of thing that we blindly obey.
The other day I saw this on Pinterest from Etsy.
I cried. Big, fat, ugly-cry tears everywhere. Because this is how we live, always.
And he might not be deploying at 7am on Sunday, but to my heart, it sure feels like it. And to the emptiness in my home, my hand, my bed, it will feel like it.
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