The first night you were gone, it was different, new.

There was more space in the bed, no snoring. Youngest Son and I giggled, spent our food budget on books. 

I slept like a log.

The second night you were gone, it was still novel...peaceful, serene.

I knew you were safe, you were working, all was fine.

Youngest and I read books at the dinner table, ate frozen food. Why cook a big meal? You're not here. 

The third night, Saturday night, our night...the silence grew louder.

Your dinner cooked by another, friends, all's well. But still.

Youngest moved into our room that night, wouldn't take your place, but set up camp next to our bed. We read.

By the fourth night, we sagged. For a quiet man, you have a large presence here.

The extra room in the bed wasn't novel anymore. It was familiar. Too familiar. We left it empty ~ me, our son, the cat. Waiting for you.

I missed your arms. Your capable arms, your soothing ways. The space you filled hung empty. Our dog looked out the window.

The fifth night. Still parenting. More parenting. Staying up with Youngest while school papers are being written is your thing. I lay on the couch with the dog, offered encouragement from afar...dreamed of you.

Nothing of this was fun...or wanted... anymore.

I missed your snore. 

No...I didn't miss your snore, but I missed your nose, your smile underneath it. Your eyes just above, promising whispers and secrets, steadiness.

Now it's the sixth night.

Six. Two more nights without you. 

All's well, we're fine...I'm proud of you. I'm proud of us.

Don't worry, I'll hold down the fort, keep things together. Except me, just a little. I thought I was tougher than this. 

It's been six nights.

*sigh*