Today was a hard day. I miss my husband so intensely that at times it’s hard to breathe.
I spent the afternoon crying into the phone. T’s disembodied voice tried to soothe me across the miles, but “only three and a half more months” holds no comfort for me right now. Three and a half months is more than a quarter of a year. I’ve already waited. Waited longer than most people will ever wait.
I don’t want to wait any more.
This is the type of night where, if T were here, I would call out in a sing-songy voice, “Who wants to go get me some iiiiice creeeeeamm?” Like it is a big privilege or something. (Ice cream is my comfort food.)
Without missing a beat, T would say, “Okay, what kind do you want?”
This is just one example of how he is a better husband to me than I am a wife to him. If he asked me to go get him some ice cream, I’d probably whine that I didn’t feel like driving and then tell him that I didn’t want to get him ice cream because he’d just eat the whole pint all at once anyway.
But not T. He would grab his keys and head to the store, so that I could snuggle into a pair of fleece pants and get the computer set up for us to watch an episode of Wipeout (we don’t have TV).
He would also get up to click “Continue” at each commercial break, so that I could sit with the cats on my lap being a lazy sloth. When we were done with our ice cream, he would bring the leftovers down to the freezer, put the spoons in the sink, and come back upstairs to hold my hand for the rest of the show.
Of course, if T were here, I wouldn’t need the ice cream in the first place.
But I might ask for some anyway, just because I love that he loves me. Even when I’m a lazy sloth.
How can a person not miss that?