Missing the Missus

My wife is flying home this afternoon from Phoenix, and boy will I be glad to see her. She’s been away for a week’s vacation visiting relatives; it seems like a year.

When I go on reporting trips by myself I don’t have such feelings. I fly to a new location, interview interesting people, stay in an unknown place. But it’s a different story when the tables are turned. I go home to an empty-nest house; our dog isn’t even alive anymore.

Thankfully, my wife, who is an excellent cook, made enough scrumptious meals to keep me alive, because I’m inept in the kitchen. But I miss her more than at feeding times. And I miss her more than physically, although there is that.

I long for my wife’s presence. After 33 years of sharing life together, there is a tendency to take each other for granted — until that routine is interrupted. When I get home from work she isn’t there to discuss the day’s joys, traumas and triumphs. This past week has dragged on interminably, and I’ve experienced a profound loneliness. It’s not good for man to be alone (Genesis 2:18).

Yet, I’m glad Patty could get away in the interim, between losing her job and starting her new assignment next week: daycare for the granddaughters.