Something occurred to me this evening, whilst I sat outside, trying to gain a little perspective, or at least feel some sense of peace within. I sat on our patio with the lights out, while the breeze blew. The clouds gently moving across the night sky. I sat outside, and listened to the neighborhood sounds, cars, and air conditioners, a few young people talking a ways off.
Then I turned on the porch light, and free wrote for a few minutes. My usual jumble of words: frustration, stress, loneliness, sadness, fear, depression. I wrote about missing him, and wishing he understood how hard it is for me to not hear from him. But then, amidst the complaining that my journal routinely bears witness to, it came to me.
This is most definitely hard on me, but it can only be that much harder on him. I may be sad and alone a lot but I have my friends, my family, the girls, the familiarity of home. He doesn't have that. He has war, and probably very few (if any) people he would chose to hang out with if he had a choice in the matter. He has a lonely room, and unfamiliar landscape. He doesn't have people who can rush over and spend time with him, if he is feeling really low, he has no outlet for anger and frustration (besides working out).
What do I have to complain about*? Honestly? The only thing I am really missing is him. His words, his touch, the feel of him next to me in bed. His physical support. I have pretty much everything else that I have always had. And yet, I complain, while he is there, away from me, away from our beautiful girls. Girls who have changed so much since he has been gone.
And honestly, I feel like such an arse for all of my complaining.
*This doesn't mean I will stop complaining, or moaning about my situation, and my fears. That is what this blog has been and will always be, my outlet.