Totally Self-Indulgent Monday

Today I did something I haven't in [...pondering...] many years. I sat helping the Beloved pack his gear for his new-job required trip back into the periphery of hell (aka, somewhere in the Middle East) and then...

...I sprawled out on my bed, spread eagled, stared at the ceiling...and cried. No bawling, no sobbing, nothing unseemly or overwrought. Just unstoppable, silent leakage.

Why?

Well, it just hit me that there's a wee Boy who, at nearly two, still doesn't talk much. I wondered what will be going on in his clearly busy little brain when he realizes Daddy is not here after tomorrow.

Every day when the girls get home from school and he hears the side-door open, he flings his toys down and flies over to see who's there. He's always happy to see the girls, but the sun cannot blaze any brighter in the sky than the goofy 8-fanged grin that he sports when Daddy's home. It is always accompanied by a belly-laugh and almost always a special man-cub growl...("It's Daddy! Party time....let's get ready to ru-u-u-u-m-m-m-mble!") "Mamm-mmma!" gets a special love-grin and a giggle that's all my own, and I love it. But I wonder how long it will be until I hear the Daddy laugh again, or if he will still do it the same way when the Beloved comes back home. And I don't know the answer to either question. Nor do I know how to navigate the recesses of the non-verbal toddler mind to answer the clearly present but unspoken questions that I will inevitably see etched on his beautiful little face when it's "just" Mommy or a siss-s-s-s-s-eee coming through that door.

A sad and pensive stretch ahead here in our corner of the middle of nowhere, I fear.

Please keep the Beloved, his mission abroad, and ours here at home in your prayers.