Since 5:00 am this morning, Linda has been gone on a trip to State College, PA for a training seminar for a women's exercise class she will be leading in a few weeks. I've been here at home, a full day that included talking with Mattie and Nathan about their upcoming baptism, an impromptu counseling session with a friend going through some tough circumstances, working on the bathroom, and reading. It's strange; I can be gone on a mission trip to Cuba for a week at a time without feeling the sense of loss and loneliness that I always experience when she is away and I am left at home. There is inside me this niggling uneasiness that makes it difficult to focus on a given task. I work in fits and starts, my mind never fully on the task. Every so often I had to fight off those thoughts of "What if something happened to her and I were left alone?" Awhile back, we talked about that possibility. Watching her grieve over the death of her mother, I told her I hoped for her sake that she went before me. I wouldn't want her to go through that again. But honestly, I don't know what I would do if it were to happen this way. I know I would be totally lost.
Linda handles our finances. I protest her insistence that if it weren't for her I would be broke, but she's probably right, except that at this stage in our lives, there's not too much I want and even less that I need. I've tried to convince her we need that zero-turn mower I've been trying unsuccessfully to negotiate down to the price she's reluctantly willing to pay. The negotiation with the owner is not the only part of the deal I've been unsuccessful at. She is adamant as to the maximum she's willing to pay, regardless of whether I think it's a bargain. The point of all this is this: if something happened to her, I would be in a world of hurt. Besides the huge gaping wound it would inflict upon my soul, I would be clueless regarding our finances. She's tried to make me understand her system, but my idea of a budget would be to put all the money in a common kitty, and replenish it when it's gone. Her way is probably better.
She called a few minutes ago to let me know she was in Jamestown and on her way home, so I can breathe easier. A lifetime ago when we were dating, she loved to listen to Eddie Arnold, "the singing cowboy" he was billed. With a voice distinctive and smooth as butter, he was a master of the ballad. One of my favorites went, "I'll hold you in my heart till I can hold you in my arms." By the time I'm done writing, she will be here in our home and my arms, and my heart will be full.
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