Coping Method

    This life of mine is torn between cherishing each moment I have with my husband, and counting down the minutes until he’s home again.  I try to be strong when he’s away for my daughter’s sake and for my own.  After all, if I break down what good will that do anyone?  But I still have days when it gets to me, when it all becomes too much.  These days aren’t necessarily caused by my daughter being a handful, or even something gone wrong.  Some days I just miss my husband, my love, my best friend so much that I can’t hold it in anymore.  Thankfully these days are few, and I’m grateful that I’ve come to find my own coping method when I have a day like today.  

      I don’t know when my little ritual started, probably some time after he returned from his last deployment, but when we’re in bed after a long day, one thing I can count on is that he’ll fall asleep first. We sleep back to belly; he has to be facing the edge of the bed, to spring into action in case of emergency I guess.  While we were lying there, I’d press my right cheek as firmly as I could to the middle of his back, closer to his right shoulder blade than to his left.  Then I’d place my left hand on his chest and press as firmly as I could to draw him in.  Then I’d simply lay there, attempting to burn the memory of every portion of his skin, his smell, his breathing into my brain for future reference.  Some nights, I would be mistaken, and he wouldn’t be completely asleep.  He’d reach up and rest his hand over mine, pressing it into his heart.

     When he’s gone, I sleep with his pillow alongside my body.  On nights like tonight when the longing becomes too much, I pull that pillow close to me, and press my cheek against it, securing it on the other side with my left hand, and I again feel his skin pressed to my cheek.  I can all but hear his heartbeat beating calmly under my palm.  But then I realize that there will be no hand reaching up to encircle my own, and the almost tangible feel of him is gone.  I’m left in a cold bed, dazed momentarily before the tears set in.  This little ritual of mine hurts as much as it heals.  It’s a reminder that he’s gone, yes, but it also serves as an incentive to carry on.  It shows me that if I can conjure up an almost-real feel of him, then I can also conjure up the strength to make it through until I get to hold him again.