21 February 2010

Into That Good Night....


Dear Sergeant Husband,

I need to get this out, and I couldn’t in good conscience write you this letter and put it in your bag before you left. I feel a little whiny and self serving, and you know how much I hate admitting that I’m anything less than a halo-wearing rockstar who makes a kick ass meatloaf.
Anyway, here’s the thing:

I hate when you leave.

Every time I have to watch you pack a bag, even if it’s only for a week or a month, it puts a knot in my stomach until the second you return from playing Army. It makes me petulant, even. Sometimes I want to take your sneakers or your boots or your razor and hide them, so that you can’t leave. Now, of course, I understand that wouldn’t actually keep you home, but it makes me smile a little bit, and that’s something that I feel a bit short of lately.

It didn’t take the baby long to realize that you’re gone, either. He walked around the house calling you, and when he didn’t get an answer from you, he came and called for me. Thank god I answered him, because he looked really confused. I even tried to explain it to him, but he got distracted and tried to feed me his sock. You know how he gets. It’s probably better, anyway. You being gone makes me teary, and when I cry, he head butts me. At least when you’re gone, your logic and genetics are here.

Now, I know I’m not the only one. I know that there are people who’ve had it much worse…long deployments, deaths…. I really shouldn’t gripe at all, but I can’t keep from throwing myself a teeny, tiny pity party, so that I can get it out of my system and move through the next little while at least a little productively.

Since you usually don’t read my blog and I’ll probably want to back out of these offers later, I’m going to make a list of things I’d do if you were just at home when I get there:

I’ll clean your clothes up out of the bathroom without a word, or even any silent seething. I’ll make you lasagna, pop your back, and not look at you sideways when you want to watch “Pardon the Interruption” instead of “Iron Chef”. If it snows again, I’ll shovel the driveway, and if the snow magically melts, I’ll mow the lawn. I won’t wake you up when you snore, I won’t get mad when you make an inappropriate joke, and I’ll totally let you pick out the ice cream flavors for the next six months.

Just come home safe and soon.

I love you.

2 comments:

Jayne Martin said...

Sending you big hugs...

Brahm said...

Very touching post - am very happy to have read it!

And on another subject, congrats on being the first blog every where I actually like the music; I usually hate on site all music on blogs and it makes me click away or projectile vomit, and now I gotta say gonna seek this music out - wowza!