She’s just left. She’s off on a flight to some where–her work, that is for us, requires she do so. The goodbye at the top of the stairs was brief, but intense. At 31, it is still hard to say goodbye to her when I know she won’t be back for a while.
But this is the job…
I have to switch gears. I have to suppress everything for the little girls who are asleep, right now. The little girls who will wake up and realize their mother is gone, and that they didn’t get to say goodbye. I have to be ready to dry those tears. I have to reassure a five year old daughter, before she’s sent to school–her version of facing her world–that her mother was sad she didn’t get to give them all a kiss and say goodbye.
She, my other, my wife isn’t here to edit this post or to remind me to eat. Her laughter won’t fill the kitchen for a few days. Her quiet humming, while bee-bopping around the house, will be sorely missed. She isn’t even in the air yet and already I miss her.
It is a new world we live in, where parents have roles to fill–and those roles aren’t so clearly defined anymore. My role is to see the need and address the need, as best I can. Because “Daddy’s don’t give up.” Something my daughter once said to me, at a very hard time in my life. “From the mouths of babes”, as the saying a goes. No….daddy’s don’t give up, we march on. We do what we must, we fill the roles that are required. It’s much harder to check my need to be “manly”, but, it is always in efforts to fill the role that is needed–a much harder feat to accomplish, than I can express using the English language. But she (she who is gone.) gives me that strength, to check it. The importance for a dad to check your manliness is as equally hard to express using the English language and often understated.
She is missed, my Lord, she is missed.