I’ve been burning and burning that candle. It’s the one I’ve got lit on both ends. I looked over at it today and it was just a charred wick laying there. It’s not even smoldering anymore. I’m not even sure which end I’ve come to, but I’ve come to the end of it nonetheless.
For her birthday this week, Mom and I made our way on down the freeway for several hours to get to the University of Washington Medical Center for some follow-up visits with docs in Seattle concerning her completed radiation treatments. Imagine. She was diagnosed with an extremely rare cancer and the world expert is right in our back yard. Let me tell you, it was driving rain, horrible visibility and hideous traffic, but several hours drive is a helluva lot better than it could be. Imagine the luck. Well, you know, imagine the – I suppose “luck” isn’t the right word.
By the way, there were no results of any kind. We are going with “we killed it” because we like the sound of that.
On the way up there was a lot of chatter as we solved the world’s problems. But at the end of the day, when we were tired of being reminded so many times of cancer, there was a lot of silence in the dark car. Between kids and full-time work and volunteering and starting businesses and being both a mom and a dad, and playing (or missing) soccer I don’t get a lot of quiet in my life. If I do, it is usually the sound I hear right before I fall fast asleep.
That silence left me challenged this week, and I’m not ready to share what I found there. I’m not sure I understand it myself just yet.
But here I am at the end of my day trying to close the door on it for the night, and I just can’t. I’m missing a vital piece. I’m missing The Closer: Husband. He’s always a good respite at the end of my day. He can take my idiocy and make sense of it. He can take me by the shoulders and shake my head back into place. He can take me at my word. He can take me away.
Because there’s something about arms wrapped around you that make you smarter and more lovley and stronger and more coherent. There’s something about whispering in the bedroom that makes you able to share a secret because you know that it will be kept there. There’s something about unconditional love that allows you to be fragile and stupid and righteously indignant without risking your reputation.
But it’s not the pain of missing his arms and wisdom and ears that feels lonely tonight. It’s the months and months and months still to go. I’m not afraid to say that today was a hard day to do without him. All day it was hard. And tonight, it was hard again.
Tomorrow is a new day. And it’s one day closer to the end of mobilization.