That Suitcase

That suitcase.

Why can't it stay in the attic until our next family vacation?

No. It is sitting on the bed, again. Waiting for neatly folded shirts, slacks, and ties.

Sometimes I feel like that suitcase spends more time with my husband than me.

That suitcase.

It's a symbol of my life switching to single-working mom mode. And I don't like it. Not one bit. And I even fold my arms and stomp like a 3-year-old on the candy aisle. Yes. Shamelessly I do that. Because I love that man that holds the suitcase. He is my soul mate and place of comfort. He is the daddy to my girls that miss him when he leaves.

When I was younger my daddy would pack that suitcase to go away to work. I wouldn't want him to leave. One time my daddy packed that suitcase to go away to work for several months. I slipped a picture of me at the top of his neatly folded clothes because I didn't want him to forget me (like he ever would...). We had to call to tell him  his mama passed away. I wanted to wrap my arms around him so tight, but we had to wait for him to get off the plane and get that suitcase before I could. Our house was always different without him there. Lonely. I remember my mama being sad sometimes. I know my girls see that in me too.

We get into a different routine when he leaves with that suitcase. Our morning routine is different. At least a tear or two is shed before school from at least one of the three girls that live in this house. I forget to check the mail... the entire time. It will be stacked to the top of the mailbox when he gets home. I forget to put the trash out by the road on Thursdays. It's overflowing and smells like something died in it. Sorry, neighbors. Our dinners are different. We eat different food, mostly macaroni and cheese, pancakes, and cereal (no judgment).  And the empty seat at the table leads to more questions. When is he coming home? How far away is it? Why does he have to go away?

That suitcase is a part of his job, I say. A job that he loves. We know he would choose us over that suitcase any day, though. I see it in his eyes when he kisses his girls before he leaves.

And I pray. I pray like crazy that he arrives safely home with that suitcase.

Mamas all over the world dread seeing that suitcase like I do. I know I'm not alone. Some mamas do not see it return for weeks or months. Some of those suitcases go to scary and dangerous places.  I pray for those mamas.

We step into a role of playing mama and daddy. I don't do it very well; but sometimes, when he is gone with that suitcase for long enough, it's hard for me to go back to just being mama. When he gets back home with that suitcase, there is no place for him. There are no chores for him to do. There is no one to tuck into bed. It has all been done. My body floods with guilt. I have to reprogram myself and remember I do have someone to do this life with. Thank you, Lord, for him.

If you know that suitcase all to well, I pray for you, sweet friend, when he gets out that suitcase again. I pray that you can use this time to be reminded just how much you need him in your life. I pray you know just how blessed you are to have a man that works without complaint to provide for your family. I pray you have the words to explain to your babies when they ask about him and how many more days. I pray he comes home safely with that suitcase.

That suitcase makes me love my husband even more. It gives me a glimpse of what life would be like if I did not have him. That suitcase makes me pray for my husband more than I usually do. It shows me just how much I take for granted.

 His plane is scheduled to land now and he will get that suitcase and head home.

I never want to live without the man that holds that suitcase.

That suitcase reminds me every time.


I love you, Tyler. Forever. And ever.


And daddy, I loved you first and I'll love you always.