Late Night Calls

Last night I went to bed early, and do I mean early! I laid my head to the pillow at 8:33pm and sweetly dozed through the night. I am nearly positive that my husband called during my slumber and I hazily recall a whispered conversation of kind and loving words. I awoke this morning and was crushed that I had not shaken myself from my deep rest to talk with him. How disappointed he must have felt; to have called from across the world to hear only murmurs and yawns of his comfortably sleeping wife. It is my sincerest hope that he calls each and every night, and hopefully the next time he calls my body and mind will jump to the ready and engage him in conversation. For now, I can only wait for the phone to ring with an indistinguishable caller listed on the Caller ID... and maybe take a nap so I won't be so tired so early.

"Good night." he says as he eats his breakfast.

"Good Morning." I whisper and fall back to sleep.

0200

In the middle of the night, out of a deep sleep, I roll over, open my eyes and see the little green light blinking on my phone. Without hesitation or a doubt in my mind I somehow just know that it is my husband on Google Talk. I never remember hearing the notification; I always remember the conversation when I wake up the following morning. It is a wonderful feeling. I can only equate it to a dream and he words feel close, real. I often fall back asleep and dream with him. I write "with him" rather than "of him" because he is with me; it's ok if you don't understand. Sometimes I don't either, but that is the beauty of it. And the most beautiful moments are sometimes at 0200.

The Last Thirty Seconds

Each time an unusual phone number appears on my caller ID I become anxious and overjoyed at the thought that it could be my husband. I mute my surroundings immediately - it makes no matter to me if it is technological, animal, or human - any and all noise ceases. I take a deep breath and answer with a simple "Hello". My heart soars when I hear his familiar, loving, and tired voice make its way across the world and to my ear. For the next however many minutes I am the luckiest girl alive, nothing can bring me down from my happy place, and I feel so overwhelmingly at peace to know he is safe and happy. The conversation is flooded with laughter and questions and constant reminders of "I love you" - as if we could have forgotten. We talk about anything and everything we can during the brief moments we have together. The topics range but are never heavy; talk of home is nostalgic and hopeful as we talk of homecoming plans and upcoming milestones. There is almost always mention of the puppy and how big he has become, along with less popular talk of puppy poops and chew toy crises. It doesn't really matter what we talk about, it only matters that we talk, that we get to share those moments.

But, no matter what the conversation, the last thirty seconds are always the hardest part. This is the part of the conversation filled with sadness smothered by upbeat talk of "I'll talk to you again soon". The moments of held back tears and blowing kisses through the phone. Time seems to slow and I reluctantly allow "Goodbye" to pass my lips; my heart beat becomes irregular, I feel myself become warm, and I swallow the tears I know will follow the phone call. That is the part of the conversation I dread most. I feel myself physically change as the conversation draws to a close. Do I allow my emotions to leak through the phone? Of course not. He doesn't need to hear me cry, he knows I miss him terribly and that I cry in his absence. He needs me to be strong. He needs me to love him. He needs me to say "Goodbye, I love you" at the end of those damned thirty seconds. And I do.