I have always had the ability to go to other places inside my head. I remember taking long car trips with my family as a little girl and just losing myself to my thoughts, content in the overtones of boring, adult conversation or even silence because my mind was anything but. I remember specifically hearing my parents and brothers speaking of the Big Bear; my eyes would grow wide in wonder as I pondered the bear that was somewhere in the great and dark outside, instantly feeling a thrill of fear overcome by a flush of warmth as I knew I was safe with my family.  

       It wasn’t until later that I realized they were talking about a constellation, that bears weren’t really around in Landenberg, PA.  It was disappointing, but probably safer that way. 

       Anyway, I have always felt accompanied by my mind–especially when I cannot sleep because of all these loud thoughts keeping me awake, talking to me. And no, I am not crazy. But right now, I am a woman missing her husband like crazy.

      I don’t know how you two do it! I know me and my husband could never live that way…This has been said to me on more than one occasion by a well-meaning person. I understand that sentiment, I really do. But sometimes I feel a little less understanding and a little more defensive. 

   

    Of my marriage. Of whether or not I am being a good wife. 

    It’s not like we chose for me to go on tour because it’s not very hard for us to live apart. It’s not like I thought, Luckily, I don’t love Drew all that much so this decision is really a no-brainer…   

    No, this decision is one that God led us to, true; it’s one in which we both have peace, yes–but sometimes it really sucks. I know that can be a crude thing to say, but it is true. Especially when I am laying awake at night with a heart full of so many both heartfelt and insignificant things to say to Drew; I want to tell him that we had an around-the-world-party tonight and I, along with a few friends, represented the United Kingdom; I spoke in a loud british accent–my volume making up for whatever might be lacking in authenticity–we served tea sandwiches, guinness, and I made cupcakes that I decorated by crafting union jacks on each one and let me tell you, that’s not easy!  I want to tell him that I tried to pretend that I could stomach this drink that was served to me in the Brazil room because my friend made it and was clearly proud of it, but the truth is that it tasted like lava from an active volcano going down my throat and I swirled it around and held it until I found a nearby and inconspicuous ledge to leave it on and quickly walked away. I want to tell him that I had a hard time keeping my eyes open tonight in the show during What I Did For Love and felt like a real poser on stage blinking furiously, just trying to keep my vital signs strong so the audience would never suspect the truth. I want to tell him that I miss him, and I feel that more than almost any other emotion, I think–it is a defining emotion of my very existence…And sure, I could say all these things tomorrow when the sun is once again shining and he is on the other end of a phone conversation, but I might not remember it so poignantly or one of us might have only a moment to talk and then be called away and let’s face it, no matter how much I tell him of terrible drinks, almost falling asleep on stage, and cupcake decorating, it’s never as good as him being here.

     It’s never as good as him actually experiencing it with me.  

     I want to tell him that I hold on to the thought of he and I experiencing life together again with all the strength of a drowning woman holding onto her one lifeline. I want to tell him that I am fine, true, but always, always much better with him. 

    And I want to tell him that if this wasn’t our life, I would also innocently tell a couple who couldn’t, at present, live together:

     I don’t know how you two do it! I know that me and my husband could never live that way…

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