The Goodbye Blues

So I mentioned this a little bit on the Shuffle yesterday, but we just survived our third-ever-in-marriage separation. You guys, I make the worst weekend widow ever. I am such a sap. I have to make myself busy so I don't think about him being gone...you know, like how parents distract toddlers so they don't realize what they're missing? Yeah. I'm the parent AND the toddler. Ridiculous.

Earlier this year, Ryan was invited to work at a men's retreat, and while he's been asked to do this multiple times since we've been married, this was the first time he felt really compelled by the Lord that this is where he needed to be. Right now. So he said yes, and for the last two months, we've been praying over this weekend and anticipating it with joy {for what God was going to do} and great sadness {because being apart is not something EITHER of us like to do}. I spent a lot of Saturdays home alone while he went to meetings and made his preparations, and this past Thursday, the day came. The day of goodbye.

I hate goodbye day. It's the worst. I always survive the rest of the separation so much better than I survive goodbye day.

Ryan had the day off work, and we got to spend the morning together, drinking coffee {because of course} and eating breakfast...and packing. And right about then, Braeya JoJo figured out something was up, and OHHHHHHHHHHHH what I endured the rest of the weekend. {A sampling of her thoughts on the matter as reflected in this photo.}

She is a Daddy's girl through and through, and after I got home from dropping him off, I discovered she had thrown up twice, and she cried and cried and cried the rest of the weekend. Mournful little soul.

But anyway. Back to the humans.

We set out a little before lunch to get Ryan all settled in at his bunk.

Come on, Shaffers. You can be braver than that.

The retreat was just up in northern Indiana, but it was quite snowy up there. Beautiful!!!!

It was really important that I kept my composure as best I could {HA!!!} throughout this day because I really did know and understand that he was doing a good, God-appointed task and I wanted to be supportive. But let's just call a spade a spade here, shall we? I don't do composure well. And we've established I am NOT a pretty crier.  So I tried. I really did.

As we walked through one of the buildings, I saw this softball and I made Ryan take this picture. It became my phone wallpaper all weekend and I kept chanting the line from A League of Their Own...."There's no crying in baseball!"  I would say to myself over and over, "Baseball, baseball, baseball, baseball."

Our dear lake. Not really the day for a spin in the boat, but still such a comforting place to the soul:

We had a couple of hours to spare, so we went to a little coffee shop {we actually visited it last summer when we were at the lake} and hung out by the fire for a couple of hours:

And then it really WAS time to say goodbye.

This was the tame cry before the ugly cry commenced:

And he was gone. I drove home in the dark, the snow, and the blinding tears, and arrived all in one piece, which was kind of a post-Christmas miracle.




And don't you just know that my wonderful husband had hidden cards for me ALL around the house. I gathered them all up and cried just looking at them.

And with that, I took my near-migaine-level {from crying} headached self to chair. {Not to bed. I can't bring myself to go to bed when he's gone.}

And Braeya and I cried ourselves into exhaustion.

Goodbyes are hard. No fun. But my one comfort was knowing he was right where God wanted him to be. And that in only three more sleeps, he would be home.