Sad Sunday, Long Monday

**Yesterday**

 

Only a few more hours til I put the man on a plane.  We’re both listless.  There are things to do around the house – empty the trash, brush the animals, vacuum.  But we don’t want to waste the time doing unsavory tasks, so instead we wander around the house.  Picking things up, putting them down.  The day before, the day after a departure are always the most unsettling.  The time between is not so bad.

 

I’m dutifully recalling all of the military families who say good-bye to their loved ones for a year or more at a time.  I have perspective, but I also wish he wasn’t leaving, or I was going with him, or at the very least I wasn’t a mountain of inefficient swollen hormones.  The hormones make me cry more.  Usually I’m braver when alone.

 

I’m also thinking of sad memories, because it’s just that kind of a Sunday.  I remember once being spurned by a crush in college.  A time I was mean to my brother, for no reason.  Other tearful airport good-byes, with this man, with others.  It’s a melancholy evening.  Pizza and the latest Pirates of the Caribbean ridiculosity should pass the time.

 

**Today**

 

4:30am, the alarm goes off.  He showers, I snooze until the last second.  I haven’t slept all night.  He fared better, luckily.  His is the long journey today.  In my head, the John Prine song plays over and over:

 

It’s gonna be a long Monday,

Sittin’ all alone on a mountain

By a river that has no end. 

It’s gonna be a long Monday,

Stuck like the tick of a clock

That’s come unwound – again.

 

5am, he tries to pet the dog good-bye, but Virgil wants to play and runs from him, wanting to be chased.  We wave good-bye instead, and climb into the frosty car.  The half hour drive, in total darkness, Buena Visa Social Club playing softly on the CD player.  Not a lot to say.  I’ll call you.  It’ll go fast.  I’ll be ok, I’ve got lots of support here.  Jack is kicking.

 

We’ll try to talk every day if we can, if a wireless internet connection is available in the Brazil hotel.  Our webcams are hooked up, tested.  As we’re driving, he tells me not to go in with him.  We won’t have time to park and walk, I’ll have to drop him off at the terminal curb.  He doesn’t want to traipse through the security line with me watching him go.  Ok, I say, and a tear escapes.  Trying not to cry, but one gets away from me.

 

We pull up to the curb.  I hug him, hold him, smell his clothes, feel his scratchy unshaven face.  He’ll have a beard when he returns.  Trying not to cry makes my throat hurt, my head hurt, so I just cry.  He pats the baby bump and says Bye Jack, then squeezes my fingers, then hoists his bags and I drive home.  One month, then he’s back for a week – to rake the leaves for me, he says.  Then gone again, until the end of March.  Until spring.

 

I climb back into bed and make the dog get in with me.  I’ve never felt a flicker recognition that Virgil senses my moods – he is still just a puppy – but today I think maybe.  Although he’s up and awake, and the dogs next door are barking (normally this makes him MAD to get outside and play with them), he lays down obediently in the bed at my feet and rests his chin on my legs.  He doesn’t move, and we sleep like this for an hour or more.  When I get up and get a shower, both he and the cat come into the bathroom with me and sit quietly, watching my every move.  Normally mornings are full of wrestling, running, wild excitement about the coming day, but today they are quiet, sitting next to each other without a snarl or hiss.  They follow me like this from room to room, blinking at me with open, sweet faces.  I don’t know if they are just curious where Patrick is, their normal daytime companion – or if they can tell I’m sad.  Either way, it’s pretty cute.  I feel taken care of by my "kids."

 

Before leaving, I fill their bowls with water and food, and then crawl into the doghouse with the dog (as far as I can go).  I give him an extra blanket in there, and pile up some treats.  It’s in the 30s today.  He’ll want to sleep somewhere warm.   I hope he figures it out.  I won’t be home for 11 hours or more – I have to stay late today to do another disciplinary action.  It’ll be dark for a couple of hours before I’ll be home to let him into the house.  I hope he doesn’t escape out of the fence, which he’s done twice before.  I hope he doesn’t sit all day at the back door, hoping to be let in, which he also does.

 

Long Monday indeed.

 

Soul to soul
Heart to heart
And cheek to cheek
Come on baby
Give me a kiss
That’ll last all week

The thought of you leavin’ again
Brings me down
The promise of
Your sweet love
Brings me around

It’s gonna be a long Monday
Sittin’ all alone on a mountain
By a river that has no end
It’s gonna be a long Monday
Stuck like the tick of a clock
That’s come unwound – again
And again