The Drive

As he packs I purposely avoid his eye. I flitter around the rooms perimeter, with no other specific purpose other than to reassure myself he has not yet gone. He tries to include me, indirectly, by talking to "himself" out loud while he gathers and organizes his things. This is a part of our separation ritual. This is not the first nor last time we will play out this little senario. We know the steps to this dance all too well.

But this time I had him for an entire month. This is an unheard of occurrence in the dozen or so years we have spent as parents. I have had him here one other time, but as he was unconscious during a large majority of that visit, it's time does not count. The stress related anurism that tore his heart apart six years ago, drew us closer together. I realized then I would not have his visits, no matter how long, forever. I am lucky to have him at any time.

He does not have his own closet, or dresser drawer in our home. He is never here long enough to make it necessary. His suitcase, on the otherhand, has it's own designated spot by the door. I am fortunate to be able to curse it when I trip over it.

"I will never leave you", he promised me often in our early days together. As if he could pry me away if he had wanted. I went with him then, enjoying our gypsy lifestyle. But to afford the reason it pains his heart to have to go, he does. The good things in life, our family, does not come for free. But that is only part of the cause of his long abstinence.

He could take a couple steps down his corporate ladder and take a permenant in state job, closer to home. A demotion would not make him happy. I would have to take a couple leaps up to make a pay balance. Working more hours myself would not guarantee us more time together

In our honeymoon season my Hubby would drive us around the city looking at it's skyline. He would then pick out a tower crane off in the distance as our destination and drive close to it to admire the building's construction in progress. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he studied it's shell like a work of art, blue prints forming in his mind. "Someday, Baby,someday...", he would say softly, "someday I'm going to be the one building sky scrapers." And I always knew he would. I am his first love, but construction is his passion.

There is something to be said about his ambition. I admire how he has always know what he has wanted to do. In junior high shop class he decide his career and has stuck to it. He aced college before carpentry school. The day after he graduated he woke up early and followed an empty dump truck to find out were it was heading. He knew it would go back to a job site so when he knocked on the office trailer and asked the foreman for a job, his creative incentive got him a job when there were few to be had. It upset Hubby when his new boss would not let him start that day, he had to wait until the next day. He has worked for the same company ever since. He purely loves what he does. He has told me over the years, "I'd do this even if they didn't pay me. I envy that. I would never ask him to change.

Even though he is not one to complain about the long early hours, or the high pressure involved in his work, he does pay a price. He is still the first person I talk to evey morning, and the last at night, but it is on the phone. Computer screen images keep us close. When friends ask us how do you do it? I ask myself the very same question. I do not know any other way. "Where is your husbands next project ?" the neighbors will ask. I will never know the answer as it will be were he is most needed at the time. "For how long?", is the follow up question. As if it mattered. It is not here. Never here for longer than a weekend. It is lonely as hell at times, late night especially difficult. But unlike many service wives, I know my husband is coming home most weekends. That thought keeps me sane and grounded.

I know it is hard for our kids too. Being told you are the man of the house is one thing. Having to act like one when you are missing your father is another. When K1 tried to smuggle himself along, by hiding in his dads truck to go with him to the airport , it was heart wrenching . He could not understand the airport was only a stepping stone to Hubby's finale destination which was even farther away. In his mind, Dad was only driving to the airport.

"This one is only a year long project", Hubby tells me as he closes his bulging case. "Sure", I answer, knowing full well it is phase one of a three year project. "How many million?", I quiz him. "Two hundred fifty eight million". "In one year?", I push. "No" he says, knowing I am on to his ruse, that is the three year projected cost. "Ahh", I play along. I have been with him too long for him to fool me.

"K1, carry my suitcase out to the truck for me, it's time for me to go." "Time to drive to the airport?, our boys ask. "Yes, K2, grab my laptop, I'll need it for the long wait at the terminal. Take good care of your mother," he tells my boys as we follow him out the door for more good bye hugs. "Call me if you need me, I'm only as far away as the airport." We are all crying now and trying to believe our little charade. "See you in a week", he calls out the window as he pulls away. "We'll be right here."

I miss him before he even before he leaves our yard. The airport is only an hour away. Damn that drive.