After an incredible day with the kiddos that included the Apache Arts and Craft Easter Thingy (though I doubt it was named that, merely dubbed so by me), Brooks’ first soccer game of the season (they lost), and a trip to the library to see a movie, check out books, and play on the computers I came home to a sweet message from Brooks. 

I’ve been blessed with a husband who is 1oo percent honest, brutally so at times. I can appreciate the honesty because the opposite, well, would be confusing. But sometimes, especially when he’s gone for long stretches, being 100 percent honest about how we feel about each other can be gut wrenching. Because it brings to the forefront all those feelings I’ve gotten so good at pushing aside, just so I can make it sanely through another day.

Call me naive, but I don’t worry so much about his safety. I leave that in God’s hands. I would rather expend my energy on living life than worrying about a miniscully possible “what if.” It’s the missing him that gets me. And interestingly enough it’s not the big moments that usually do it for me, though I tend to feel sorrowful for him, because of the moments he misses. He’s surely missed half of Little B’s childhood. For me, it’s the small moments. The hand holding, conversations face to face, watching him walk down the drive to the door after work, seeing his boots laying around the house…I miss the smell of his aftershave, miss the extra laundry, and miss trying to cook something really extraordinary just so I can hear him ask for seconds.

So sometimes this deployment hits me harder than usual. And those moments can transform me to the day we watched him march away from us… to all the sorrow, and grief, the sadness, even the acceptance of it all. 

So tonight, as I cried big crocodile tears into our dinner, I was struck by the abnormality of our normal. That as I walked into the kitchen, with tears streaming down my face, my son hugged me, patted my back and went back to playing. Because as much as he’s become accustomed to Daddy being gone he’s also used to Mommy crying from time to time. And he didn’t have to ask. He just knew. And that made me sad too.

Sometimes I need a big ol’ cry. A big ol’ cry and a nice, cold, tall glass of Coca Cola. Tomorrow will be a better day. And regardless of the sadness that tinged today, I am so grateful for each moment.