13 Stoplights
Seeing my husband on Sundays
Seeing my husband on Sundays
I’m up early, earlier than I have been all week. I’ve done yoga, had coffee, made sure the house is pristine, picked out and put on an outfit, and waited for the clock to turn 6:48am. I head to my car.
And then, I wait … I wait and I try to will stoplight after stoplight to turn green faster.
• • •
You see, today I see my husband. Today I get to touch my husband. Today we have ten uninterrupted hours to spend together.
We can share the details of our daily lives that have occurred since Tuesday — both the minute and the transformative, the mundane and the revelatory.
• • •
Today, we will live in the moment: we will not watch the clock, not do the math of the remaining minutes, not worry about his approaching curfew.
The possibilities are endless, my excitement indescribable, the butterflies uncontainable, and — Oh! The anticipation of the places we’ll go!
On days as momentous as this in our reborn, tender marriage we may drive-through for a coffee, or head to the grocery store, or perhaps the local car shop to return an item.
• • •
And what then? We’ve got five hours left! And then he will nap. Because he is exhausted, he is safe, and he is comfortable in his home
With sleepy yawns, three hours remain.
But, there’s laundry to finish, stepwork to complete, and meals to prepare.
• • •
With marked-off checklists we’re down to thirty minutes left.
And so, I help him pack. We pick and fold the outfits I will not see him in this week. We package up the dinners I will not eat with him this week. I watch the hands I will not hold this week and I kiss the face I will not fall asleep next to this week.
• • •
Then, we head to my car to take him back to his temporary bed.
And at stoplight after stoplight, I try and will each one to stay red just a little longer.
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Original photo credit: Josh Blanton on Unsplash