Friday, March 23, 2012


Clouds pressed in and wept and I took the Pilot to the tiny municipal airport– the Marsupial Airport we call it, picturing koalas and kangaroos running security– and left him there.

I've known this was coming for months now, and it's only a month, not a long separation, not by military standpoint. Fourteen months of being engaged is still a fresh imprint on the soft foam of memory, six hundred miles for six hundred thousand minutes, hearts struggling to learn to beat in rhythm with the distance between them. Only forty-one thousand minutes, this time. The heartbeats have had almost three months of togetherness to learn how to synchronize.

The things to be thankful for pile up like feathers in a soft pillow to soften the slap of being alone:

~ I am not lying awake at night, worrying for his safety. In survival training there is no question of survival; they will all be just fine. 
~ The Pilot's dates were pushed back from the original so he did not have to miss his only brother's wedding, and two weeks ago the Pilot was the groomsman and the handsomest of them all. I watched the two joke with each other, brothers, and then the Pilot pulled me out to dance at the reception and I was so glad I was in his arms dancing, not sitting and wishing he was there. 
~ Friends and prayers surround us both, I know, and Angela invited me over today. Months ago friends here were still a hoped-for, a wonder-if, and now I revel in Angela's sweet spirit, wondering how we could never have known each other before, and thinking that if not for Wichita Falls we never would have.
~ Downton Abbey– the long-hoarded treasure, dwelling in anticipation in the Netflix instant-queue– for much as the Pilot loves me I still know better than to ask him to watch anything faintly resembling Jane Austen– something to keep me company at night. My mother suggested I save designing our wedding album till now, too. 

So many ways that this apart-time is not as hard as it could be.

But still.

Introverts, both of us; the Pilot and I slipped upon marriage into the rhythm of each other's lives with few missteps, being together so natural, and he and I don't even have to talk or do anything, just me working on homework and he reading across the room and the heart of our lives beats for both of us. Take us apart and the rhythm is off. "It is not good that the man should be alone," God-words, a divine declaration that loneliness is unnatural, even in the perfection of Eden. If Eve had been created first I'm sure the same would have been said about woman, because I am woman and even after two days I know, this is not how I was meant to be.

Yet God gives grace for how it is. Comfort to know that. And comfort to know that the loneliness is legitimate, that this is the temporary not-good, and the good is being together.

Twenty-eight days.

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