Some days the weight of being alone sits heavy, a yoke upon my shoulders.
Some days my heart cries, realizing how much life he’s missing, that Marine of mine.
Some days, my eyes cry, too.
Some days the boys wake from their naps, crying for their daddy.
Some days, their mommy is helpless to console them.
Some days, their little shouts of joy bring ache to my soul.
Some days, I wonder if absence really does make the heart fonder.
Some days, I worry that we’re all going to grow apart.
Some days my fingers entangle the roots of my hair and my teeth grit until my jaw is sore.
Some days I stomp my own feet on the tiled kitchen floor, hearing the hollow beneath me.
Some days, I feel the hollow in my heart.
Some days, my heart is steeled with guilt, because we saw him. A stolen treasure, that.
Some days, I’m angry it was just a trip.
Some days, the five months he’s been away seem to have sped away, fast as the mountain lightning.
Some days, my eyes squint, straining to see the end of the eight months ahead.
Some days, I’m proud of his service.
Some days, I want to hide it, away from critical eyes and wagging tongues.
Some days, I shake my fist that this isn’t over yet, that we’re closing in on year nine.
Some days, I wonder why we signed up for another four years, and another.
Some days, I remember all the reasons.
Some days, crayons and coloring sheets make day-brightening presents, sent across the sea.
Some days, the mail brings gifts of gold, letters written in his hand.
Some days, we see him on a computer screen.
Some days, the telephone grows warm with hour long heart talks.
Some days, we remember what a gift this is.
Some nights, our little boys fight exhaustion, calling from their room that they can’t sleep without daddy.
Some nights, I send them back to bed fifty times, exasperation on my lips.
Some nights, I curse the television and its common scenes of lovers and gentle kisses.
Some nights, I drift away into sleep, on the couch, rather than face the cold, empty bed.
Some nights, I pray for dreams in which his hand holds mine, his arm encircles my shoulders.
Sometimes, I lay, face on the carpet, begging Jesus for strength to stand.
Always, I feel His arms pulling me up.
Sometimes, I cry that I can’t do this thing alone for one more moment.
Always, He fills the empty heart and gives warmth, peace.
Sometimes, I rest.
Always, He tells me loneliness isn’t shameful.
Sometimes, I can do naught but weep.
Always, He draws me closer, collecting my tears in a bottle.
Some days, the missing is so strong I believe my body breaking in two.
Some days, I’m but a half to a whole.
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