The Daybed

In three short days, Elise will fly by herself for more than two days with our three small children. In the ten or so years that Elise and I have known each other this will be the longest we've been apart.

This past weekend, we diidn't do much. One morning, Elise felt a migraine coming on as she lay on the daybed in her studio/playroom and I massaged her temples. Past the green expanse of our yard, as quiet as it was, I could see the constant stream of traffic and tuk-tuks crossing the Kotturpuram bridge going over the Adyar, but I usually never notice it, and it seemed far away then, too. I felt comfortable next to her, a comfort that in our hectic lives is almost always just out of reach, and a warmth welled up in my body. In her Hopkins tee, my alma mater, I will miss her. 

The past week has not been fun. I am busier than I have ever been at work, and she is anxious about the upcoming trip. With good reason. It won't be easy, but if she can't do it, no one can. A hundred errands to run, bags to pack and re-pack, movies to download to the iPad. We stayed up until almost eleven last night after spending an hour and a half on the phone with British Airways. 

There is really no other purpose to this blog entry except to remember that moment on the daybed. So that when she is gone, I don't remember the night holding her flash so she can see or having forgotten to look up the dental insurance, but just remember how happy it makes me feel to be with her.