Having Jac gone is hard.
He is my ballast, my strength, my soft spot to fall. Even on the days that he stays in his office ALLDAYLONG and doesn’t resurface until supper, I know he’s near and it makes me feel safe.
When he’s away I am vulnerable and a wreck. And maybe it’s my hormones or the weather or my brand of crazy but the minute his ticket was confirmed, I immediately began the what-ifs.
What if the car brakes down? What if Monday jumps the fence and bites someone? What if the plane crashes? What if he never makes it back? What if something horrible happens and I am left to birth this baby by myself?
I’ve cried A LOT.
The tears aren’t just tied to imaginary things yet to happen, though. No. They flow from deeper, more real places. Places where friends are mourning profound losses. Places where I still miss Nana Joyce. Places that make me ache for my mom and make me feel shaky inside. They bubble to the surface and combined with my fears and anxiety, come pouring out.
So I cry. I try not to fret too much and start another load of laundry. And I pray. For Nana Joyce and in thanksgiving for good memories and a legacy passed down. I remember mom and Aunt Cristie and their grief and ask the Lord to comfort them. I lift up my friends and ask the Lord to show me how to love them and demand His blessings for them.
And I count the minutes until Jac comes home. He has to come home.