I do. I miss him. I know he’s supposed to come home on Wednesday… I also know I was supposed to see him on Tuesday… and last week. I miss him.

It’s hard to believe he’ll be here soon. Really. I don’t mean that metaphorically and it isn’t a cliché. I really can’t believe he’ll be here on the day after tomorrow. I’ll believe it when I hold him in my arms and not really until then.

I’m trying to think of things to do to make him feel at home. I’ve put his stuff back in his drawers and taken my stuff off of his night stand… I organized the bathroom so he will actually fit in there. I’ve cleaned his beloved leather couch and put his freshly washed favorite blanket beside it. [I also realized I've used up all of his good razors... oops.]

In summary, I’m trying to make it look like we didn’t actually move him out. I’d like to stock the fridge and pantry with all of his favorite things… but there’s an inch of ice on my car and I can’t actually remember what he likes to eat anyway. I know he needs Miracle Whip [yuck] and cherry Poptarts… and maybe some Power Ade…

As much as I miss him — and really I miss him A LOT — I’m a bit apprehensive about reintegration. I’m not who I was when he left. Since Joel moved to Ada, OK and started preparing for mobilization, I’ve joined the Army, turned thirty, attended officer basic and become a seminarian. I listen to whatever music I want, rarely watch TV, never watch ESPN, fix the car myself when it’s busted, decide when and where we eat out, take out the trash, discipline the kids. Since Joel left, I’ve driven over 9,446 miles in road trips. Three trips to Texas, two to South Carolina, once to Georgia and twice to Tennessee. Plus one round trip flight from Oklahoma City to Tennessee and one from South Carolina to Indiana.

It’s been a long journey.

I’m not who I was. I’m glad. I hope he is too.