A month or so ago my husband called from work and asked if it would be okay if he took a business trip for a week to Chicago.

I said without hesitation, “Absolutely.”  And I meant it.

Important side notes:  1. My husband doesn’t travel.  Never has.  He’s not military.  We’re never apart.  Where he goes, I go.  Even soccer practices are all done together.  We had to have a heart to heart with the kids that 2 of them had practice at the same time and we were going to have to split up.  We are not co-dependent.  We’ve just always been this way.  It’s what we discussed before we were married, it’s what we’ve purposefully chosen his jobs around.  He worked nights for a while and it about did us in.  We made serious decisions to make that stop.  Everyone told us our honeymoon would soon end when we got married, but my mother-in-law was the lone voice in the crowd that said oh, no, she and my father-in-law had been just that way for 30 plus years and it only got stronger.  She was right.

So we began the planning and packing.  The laundry washing and Chicago looking.

I wasn’t very anxious.  I was under control.  I was prepared.  I take the kids everywhere by myself.  I do most of the “doing” with the kids: baths, dinners, readying.  I had this.

I never even prayed about me.  Not once.  Matt, yes.  Me, no.

Pride anyone?

We got down to the weekend of his departure and I started to get anxious.  I was going to miss him.  Miserably.  And I knew it.  I didn’t want to be without him.  The few evenings that he takes off for “man dates” I knew were quiet pretty lonely nights.  So I began worrying some about those nighttimes of quiet.  But I consoled myself with thoughts of endless Facebooking and blogging.

The thought did cross my mind that I would be lonely during the day too when I couldn’t chat with him online or call just to hear his voice but Matt reassured me that I would finally be able to rule with that iron fist I love so much.

We rode to the airport pretty quietly.  I asked Matt what flight number he would be on, you know, just in case…

We got to the airport early and spent some time looking around.

I received a text from my mother-in-law “Don’t worry, God will be with you.  Tomorrow will be a lot better.  I know.”  And she does.  She is married to a once National Guardsman who left each summer for camp.  And was called up for Desert Storm, but thankfully never flew out to it.  She knows.  I read it and balled.

Then fought back the uncontrollable tears.

He watched us walk away and we waited until we got downstairs out of sight to collapse on a bench in a collective crying heap.

As I left the airport we made plans to go to Cold Stone Creamery (against my better judgment, but at Matt’s urging to “do something fun.”)  Then we picked up pizza on the way home.

I cried and cried and cried.  So did the kids.  Except the 3 year old.  He didn’t say much about it.  Like nothing was different.

We made it through the evening fairly uneventfully.  Matt made it to the hotel and missed us.

The next morning reality hit.  Hard.  I won’t take you day by day, but one of the shocking things for me was that the week all blurred together in a never-ending haze of work.  In addition to all those soccer practices we had extra trips out of town for soccer pictures and much-needed grocery runs.  I didn’t realize how much our days revolved Matt’s schedule and how important it was to our daily rhythms.

We talked to him often and I was thrilled that he was out sight-seeing.  One of my prayers was that he would not sit alone in the hotel room missing us.  That he would explore and have fun.  And he did.  I was so thankful.

Back home we ate out more often than we have since I was pregnant.  It was not a good thing.

I yelled.  A lot.  My temper was short, my emotions were high, and I could not get any sort of self-control.  It was not good.

I couldn’t turn to my Facebook friends or get real on here because I didn’t want the world to know I was home alone.  It was not good.

My three year old.  I did not expect the fallout.  Had no clue what I was in for.  He didn’t express any of his sadness, worry, upsetness in any actual verbal form.  He couldn’t.  He just acted out.  Like I’ve never seen.  He was more aggressive than any of mine have ever been.  Knowing the source was helpful only to a certain point.  And then I didn’t care anymore I just wanted him to behave.

I thought keeping things on our normal routine would be best.  What was I thinking?  I should’ve dropped everything and made it a party for a week.  But the messy house just made me crankier.  I wanted order and cleanliness.

The house was cranky, dark, frustrating.  There was no laughter.

Here’s where God really opened my eyes.  And I believe, allowed me to fall in the mud.  I thought since I did most of the work around here that we didn’t really need Matt.  Ugh.  I said it.  Come to find out I needed him so much more than I ever thought and for reasons I never expected.  He’s my balance.  He’s the one that keeps us laughing.  That makes our home and my heart sing.  That keeps us spontaneous.  That balances my judgment and law with his grace and mercy.  Our togetherness is a picture of oneness for the kids.  Marriage and parenting is an earthly image of God’s role for us.  God is whole and perfect and balance.  We never will be, but together man and wife are closer to what we should be for our children.

Without Matt our home spun off its axis.  Our world toppled.

I prayed more for my military mom friends that week.  My eyes were opened.  My heart was softened.  I was humbled by how many moms have to live without their husbands and keep on keeping on for the kids.

I’m more prepared with how-to’s for the next time my other half has to leave, practical things like focus on the kids, help the preschooler cope better, focus less on self, pray, pray, pray.  But really I’m just more acutely aware of how much my husband does.  How important laughter is to life.  How horribly prideful I was.  I will remember how falling feels.