John has been away on a business trip for a few days. Ahh, a few days of the remote to myself, dinners that Kevin and I love but John won't touch, and less dishes.
I was driving to work this morning and the highway was closed off with a police officer directing traffic to take an alternate route. There was an very bad accident, and all the emergency personnel were there so that the injured could be medivaced out to the city by helicopter. Our highway is nasty-narrow, slippery, and curvy. People die on it regularly, and in a small town such as mine usually everyone knows the person or a friend of theirs. A mention of an accident such as this causes people to catch their breath in horror-often they know what it's like to face such tragedy because it always hits fairly close to home. This was the second bad accident on that road since Saturday.
Suddenly, being alone doesn't sound like fun. It sounds lonely and reminds me what it could possibly be like should something ever happen to John. Kevin asks for his Daddy, wondering if he's safe and sound. It's been years since that day when Kevin was six that I almost had to tell him that we lost his Dad, but he's never forgotten it. Neither have I. Now every illness, we worry. Every time he's away, we worry. We know the consequences first hand, and we so don't want to go there.
Bouyed by my words, Kevin goes to bed with his Dad's pillow clutched in his arms, the lingering scent on the pillowcase lulling him to sleep.
Hurry home, sweetheart. We miss you.