I know if this were someone else I would be secretly unsympathetic, unpitying, and that’s only right, because every has their own… stuff, and sometimes I’m so very aware of how that stuff is so much bigger than mine.
But this is my own stuff, my own pain, and it hurts so much at times like this. All these days and nights without him, and nothing to do but work and wait and pray for patience and grace. What’s wrong with time apart? I couldn’t say.
But I want to go home.
Four months, though. Oh life.
