How do I miss my sailor? It’s different every day.
On the day he leaves, I miss him with gotta-hold-it-in, don’t-cry-in-front-of-the-kids-too-much tears. I miss him by distracting my kids from their sadness and creating a beautiful day for them to remember not as one of loss but instead as the adventure of the military family. In the evening though I miss him with a river of tears and empty arms in a lonely bed.
In the days before he returns … while I am excited and planning and primping, I am also preparing. Preparing for another extension and another. Preparing for a first night’s duty or simply too much work to leave the boat on the first bus or the second of the third. Sometimes missing him when he’s so close is even harder than when he’s far away.
On the good days … a personal best swim time, an attaboy from the Sensai, or a kind word from the teacher … I smile knowing he would be so proud, is so proud, even when he can’t be here to celebrate their accomplishments. My heart aches each time I hear, “Wish I could tell Dad about this …” and breaks when the only answer I can give is a falsely excited, “You should definitely tell him in an e-mail!”
On the bad days … with not-so-nice words from the teacher or coach, when the kids just won’t stop, or the dryer gave up again … my tears are half sadness, half anger. Why aren’t you here? I can’t do this alone! What would you have said? How would you have handled this? What should I do since there just isn’t going to be a we to do this for what seems like forever?
On quiet days … my hands feel empty, feel cold because I do not have his warm hand to hold in mine.
On the noisy days … I miss having him to release the noise in my head. I miss hearing the noise of his day. I miss sharing the burden of the noise quietly with him.
On rainy days … I miss cuddling with him.
On the sunny days, I hate that he is missing our sun.
How do I miss my sailor? Every day, every moment. Always. Until the day I see his handsome face walking back toward me again.