It's late morning here in the Springs;
I've already cleaned here
and gone over to a post-partum momma's house
I've made phone calls and written emails.
But, like the other years my oldest kids
were off serving missions,
on their P-days
I tried to keep close to the computer
so I could get their emails
hot off the press
a it were.
I walk away and come back
checking my email
over and over
all morning long.
(checked it, nothing yet.)
It's not that I think my sweet Sister Missionary
has something life-changing to share;
even though she is having some amazing experiences;
all it means to me is that
she is breathing
able to get to a computer
and if all she had to say was
"I'm Alive, Mom"--
as she does in every email
because she knows me so well
and watched me
watch the email with her older brother and sister
when they were missionaries--
if all she had time to write was those 3 words,
it would be enough.
This experience of being a Missionary Mom
but the part that is hardest is not being able
to hear her voice every day.
That is hard,
I"m not gonna even try to fake that I"m ok with that.
I didn't cry when we left her at the MTC,
or on the way home from Utah.
it wasn't until about 6 days ago that I really had a good cry
for missing her
when I was alone in the car one day by myself.
(checked again, nada)
I get why we can't talk to these
newly called missionaries:
they need to focus on the calling and all that.
I get it.
It's the right way to do this.
But man alive,
it's pretty stinkin' hard to do.
Every letter we get from her is overflowing with JOY;
with her companion,
her testimony and all that she is learning.
It is all we hoped for her and more.
She is training on Temple Square this week
before leaving next Wednesday
for New York.
New York in September.
I've heard it's beautiful.
(checked again, nope.)
So Nana may not even be near a pc today,
because of her training in Salt Lake City.
All I can think of is that it's a good thing
I live on this side of the Rocky Mountains
cuz' ya know...
I'd haveta be restrained from taking a jaunt over to
hide in the bushes if I had to,
or wear dark sunglasses and a ball cap to hide my appearance,
just so I could get my two eyeballs on my girl.
I know I sound like a loon.
I blame my kids.
They did this to me--
this business of having my heart
float around outside of my body
stinks on ice.
Since I am stuck over here on the east side of the Rockies,
I must wait
for a little note to pop up and say,
"Hey Momza! I'm Alive!"
(just checked again. nuthin')
This is gonna be a long day.