In just a few hours, I’ll be headed to the airport. I’ll pull up to the arrivals doors, and he’ll be standing there waiting for me. I probably won’t tackle him to the ground, but that’s how my heart will be feeling. The whole jumping into his arms and kicking your feet in the air doesn’t look nearly as cute in real life as it does in the movies. No, this is just another couple, reuniting at the airport, like millions of couples have done before us. Heck, it feels like we’ve done this as many times as the rest of the world combined. But every time, I immediately feel a sense of relief. Contentedness. Peace. My heart is whole again.
I wish I could say I want him home to take care of him, to make sure I’m there for him and his happiness. But the truth is, it’s for entirely selfish reasons. When we’re apart the conversations are intermittent, here and there, a quick five minutes when we can. But once he’s home I can unload all those things I’ve been thinking but have no one to tell them to. Those weird, quirky, random stories that nobody else would get. And all the hurt, the sorrow, the pain I’ve seen in the world that I want to lean on him to get through. It’s not the same over text. It’s not quite as comforting via FaceTime.
I’ve written about the feeling when he goes, but today it’s about the feeling when he comes back. It’s nerves until he’s officially here, what should I wear, will he like my new hair cut. It’s worry that something will go wrong, that he’ll be delayed or business will call him back just as he’s about to be free. It’s been 44 days, 1,056 hours, 63,360 minutes, or 3,801,600 seconds since I’ve seen him last. Since he’s been right there to reach out and hold his hand.
It’s not much compared to what some couples endure. But I’ll be glad to see this trip come to an end. Glad for the support with our daughters, glad for the companionship, glad for our family to be whole again. He’s home.
XO,
A
