Tonight was the first night of little league playoffs for my oldest son's baseball team. We finally got a break from the scorching heat, and the game started late due to storms earlier in the evening, so it was a nice night under the stadium lights, cuddled up on the bleachers with my eight year old watching the game. And then it started raining. Hard. We had an umbrella, but it wasn't much defense against the giant raindrops that were coming at us from all angles.
The umpire called the game when the lightning started, but by then the field was a giant mud puddle, the players were slipping and sliding all over the place, the bleachers were slippery, and the crowd was soaked. As we ran to the car, water dripping from our hair, our clothes, my cute summer sandals sliding off my feet, all I could do was laugh. It was one of those little moments that's just so ridiculously awful, you have to enjoy it. It was one of those times that makes me miss my husband more than ever.
I hate that he's missing the big moments, the holidays, the milestones, and just time with his family in general, but it's the little moments when I feel his absence the strongest. Like this morning, when the boys and I spent an hour looking for my keys, only to find them in the trash can (I have no idea how they got there), and I could almost see my husband standing in the doorway, shaking his head with his arms folded across his big strong chest, trying to pretend he's not as amused as I am. I would walk up with a huge, satisfied grin on my face, dangling my keys in front of me, and say "I found them." He would laugh and wrap his arms around me and tell me he loves me, despite the fact that I'm a hot mess.
I miss having him here to order pizza, promising me that was what he wanted anyway, when I burn dinner. I miss the way he laughs at me when I have a road rage attack and start cursing like a Soldier. I miss walking into a room and seeing him and the boys doing even the simplest thing together, like watching tv or working on homework. It's not often that I have my entire world in the same room at the same time, and when it happens, it takes my breath away. (Right now, I'd settle for having them all in the same country.)
There are so many little moments during the day just aren't the same without my husband here. I still tell him about all of them, no matter how stupid or embarrassing the stories are, but it doesn't make his absence any easier to bare. Luckily, for every little moment my husband misses, I have the memories of all the little moments we've had together, and the knowledge that we have a lifetime of funny, messy, unpredictable little moments ahead of us to lessen the hurt.
We are the silent ranks. We each have a story. This is mine.
