When He walks in

During our marriage my husband has traveled. A lot. I remember him leaving for a business trip to the East Coast when we were newly married. They wouldn't let him rent a car, he was so young then. He arrived home at some unearthly hour and I was at the airport to greet him. Both of us exhausted, we walked into our apartment but didn't go to sleep until the wee wee hours of the morning.

When Mason was only weeks old, John was sent to Europe. He walked through Belgium as I stayed up all night with a newborn babe. People invited me to stay in their home, but I couldn't bare to be away from mine, because we were a family and a family belongs at home. John arrived home and cried literal tears because he could see that our new baby boy had grown while he was away.

As time has passed we've gotten more used to the separation of him from us. Last year he traveled so much that it was routine in our lives not to see him from Sunday night until Friday night. I became brutally independent. People thought I was so strong. And I was so strong-I can do hard things. John missed us, and we longed to be together but we knew we could not change the circumstances on our own. We adjusted, we "dealt with it". And we dealt with it pretty well.

I had a handyman who came and fixed things when they broke.
We hired a cleaning lady to help me keep our Pacer way house looking "show ready" at any moment.
I didn't exercise much, no time to be away from the kids. Reading stories to them at night became critical, an elixir for the loneliness they felt with the absence of a parent they love. And I would visit the Temple in Dallas, and beg God to strengthen me. And He did. He helped me know what to say to which child, when to have cereal for dinner so i wouldn't go over the edge, and He'd comfort me in my many worries and concerns. And John felt strengthened too. He was lonely without us, but productive. He worked hard and did all he could to make his absence something that was not a part of our lives in vain. He called in the early mornings to join us via speaker phone for our daily Scripture time. He wrote letters with old fashioned stamps and sent them to me and the kids. We adored him and he adored us. From a distance though it was, it was sincere and sweet.

We'd usually make it great until about Thursday, but by then something would set off the house. Tears over what was for dinner, or who touched who, or which outfit was clean to wear to school the next day. The tears were never really over those things, they were over the stress and sadness of not having dad around. They were probably brought on more often than not by the stress that just wreaked from my body over being responsible for 6 lives independent of a partner in the flesh. John dealt with guilt. we dealt with loss, but we managed really well, and we were happy in our lot.

Then and now, I notice there is one natural phenomena that takes place whenever John returns home. Often he comes in after the children are in bed. Within minutes, I can feel my body literally relax, the tension and stress of the parental responsibilities I shoulder in his absence being lifted and placed in his care.

Last night, late, John came home again. It was the same as always, with the house sleeping accept for me. After a "hello kiss" I scurry off to keep working on whatever my adrenaline filled body has me occupied with.

Then, the release. I realize he is home. I'm not "on my own" any more. My mind relaxes, and my body reacts.

The knots in my back begin to untie, and I feel utter exhaustion. Now, after nights filled with tasks that could not be done while mothering my large brood, I can stop to rest. I fall (sometimes pretty literally) into John's arms. Sleep can come. Deep good sleep. And I dream for the first time since the night that he went away.