My Dear Husband,
You're on your way.
Your daughter cried all the way home from the airport. Most of it was a tearless wail, calling out for you. She was mostly better by the time we got home.
Henry slept most of the way home and didn't cry until he was sitting at the table with his lunch in front of him. Maybe he understands now.
You told me on the way to the airport that you'd had a song stuck in your head since you woke up this morning. I've had a song stuck in my head for two days, with a second one flitting through ocassionally. It says something about where we are, individually.
The first one is Last Living Souls by the Gorillaz. That song is as full of angst as I am. "Are we the last living souls? ... The Lord, seeing all now, can you take us in?" Does it sing of the end of things or does it sing of hope and rising from and out of desolation?
The second song is Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day. Though I'm sure the author's story is not the same as mine, the sadness and sense of loss are still meaningful. Maybe I will wake up when September ends.
Today is not the best day for me. I have moments when I feel like I can do this, but then I remember that I am without you. What will I do?
Your song was a gift to you. I know it was. It gave you peace today.
I had to look up the words because I couldn't remember them.
God Is Love
Earth, with her ten thousand flow'rs,
Air, with all its beams and show'rs,
Heaven's infinite expanse,
Sea's resplendent countenance-
All around and all above
Bear this record: God is love.
Sounds among the vales and hills,
In the woods and by the rills,
Of the breeze and of the bird,
By the gentle murmur stirred-
Sacred songs, beneath, above,
Have one chorus: God is love.
All the hopes that sweetly start
From the fountain of the heart,
All the bliss that ever comes
To our earthly human homes,
All the voices from above
Sweetly whisper: God is love.
Even when it is difficult, I will try to remember how good we felt about this in June. How certain we were that it was the right choice. Under the pain, hope still lingers.
I will not wallow, but I will not be ashamed of my tears. Who ever said a brave face has to be dry?
I love you. I miss you.
Yours,
Girly
