Torn

Hubby is going away for a bit on Monday.  For good reasons, but he is still leaving.  Right now, it feels like he will be gone for a lifetime.  In reality, it is 40 weeks.  The length of a term pregnancy, which can feel like forever, but can also fly by.

I don't want him to go.  I don't want to miss all of the things I know I will miss.  I don't want to be without him for that long.  I don't feel guilty for wanting him to stay because I'm not forcing him to.  I want him to stay but I know I have to let him go.

I know that home, wherever that turns out to be, will not feel like home without him.  I know that stupid little things will upset me and remind me of him.  I know that every time one of our children does something different or looks at me in a new way, I will feel sad that he hasn't seen it.

I also know that I have a lot of other support.  I have found out that I have some truly great friends, willing to offer time and practical help - things you just can't buy.  I know that the children will adjust well and get excited about parcels and postcards rather than being sad about cuddles and kisses.  I know that we will write daily, electronically or otherwise, and nurture the bond we have formed over the past six years.

I know that he will come back to me.

I know that I will survive, I just don't know how happy I will be for the next few months.  I know I will feel like a part of me is missing, every day.

Yet I know there is a practical positive for every negative emotion.

And I know that I will be putting everything into saving up to go and visit him as soon as possible, for as long as possible and that when we are back together, it will be like he has never been away.

It will be perfect, all over again.

But, for now, we are looking at long distance.  Huge distance.  For ten months.

And I don't want him to go.