LEXI
I lay awake all night with my phone in my hand, staring at the ceiling while I wait, frozen and numb. The litany of worry has faded away until there’s a whole lot of nothing in my head, just an empty buzzing that leaves me feeling constantly on the verge of tears. I keep holding my breath. I remind myself to breathe from time to time, but the deep cleansing breaths wake the tears, so I find a balance that leaves my jaw clenched so tight my head aches. When I realize I’m fading in and out of consciousness and that my phone needs charged, I plug the thing in, turn the ringtone volume all the way up, and turn on the flashing LED light alert. If I happen to doze off and Ty reaches out, I have a whole lot of chaotic light and sound to ensure I wake up.
A lifetime passes while I lay there until the soft light of dawn filters through the window and I roll over to check my phone. It’s almost seven in the morning and I have no idea if I slept at all. There’s still nothing from Ty, even after I open up all the apps and check for new texts, calls, or emails in case all the information is waiting for me and I didn’t get a notification.
I don’t want to be awake. The deep darkness of unconsciousness would be a welcome respite from the waiting. But I’m up, caught in a loop of fear and worry. Wishing for sleep isn’t going to solve anything.
I slide out of bed and shuffle through my morning. Judging by the heavy clouds gathering outside, it’s going to be a rainy Sunday and that suits me just fine. I’m not in the mood for sunshine and blue skies. I make Gabe breakfast and then he disappears into his room, somehow aware of the fact that I need space. He reappears right around eleven.
“Has Dad called?” he asks. He doesn’t know how much that question has rattled around in my head.
I shrug, doing my best to look like nothing is wrong. “Not yet.”
“Do you think he’s going to be able to today?” Disappointment crinkles his brow.
I swallow back the tears and force a smile. There’s no reason for me to tell Gabe what’s happening. Not yet. Not when I don’t have anything to tell him other than the fact that I don’t know what happened.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ll make sure you get a chance to talk to him if he does, though.”
Gabe nods but steps towards me instead of heading back to his room. “What’s wrong, Mom?”
“Nothing at all, bud. I’m fine.” My boy knows me too well to fall for the light tone and forced smile I’m trying to pull off and I know it, but I can’t put this weight on his shoulders. I just can’t. He’s not old enough to understand. He just got a dad. I’m not ready to make him worry that he’s lost him already.
“You sure? You look like something’s wrong.”
“I’m okay. Promise.” It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told my son. I am so not okay. I can’t remember a time when I’ve been this far from okay. “I didn’t sleep very well and I’m super tired.” I force a smile but drop my gaze so he can’t see how much I’m struggling.
Gabe gives me a look that lets me know he’s not buying it but doesn’t push the issue. If Ty doesn’t reach out in the next couple days, I’ll have to tell Gabe what happened. I don’t know how I’ll find the strength to help him through his own shock and fear, but I’ll find a way. With my thoughts twisting and turning down terrible paths, I go back to staring off into space, holding my phone, and hoping to hear something from Ty soon.
* * *
Monday comes and I consider calling into work and saying I’m sick, but since I used up all of my vacation and then some, I don’t feel right about it. I drag myself through a shower—the first one I’ve had in days—and manage to pull my hair into a messy bun, but putting on makeup feels like one step too much. I go through the day like a zombie, my phone in my pocket taking up more of my attention than any of my patients.
Every time I find a quiet moment, I pull up of all the news sites and pour through them, looking for something, anything, that might give me an idea of what happened. I even search the foreign news networks and when I find nothing there, resort to YouTube and the plethora of alternative news sources and conspiracy theorists out there. I find nothing. Not one shred of information to help me piece together what happened to Ty. The more I look, the more desperation twists inside me until I can barely think over the buzzing in my brain. By the time I get home, I’m a nervous wreck. I thaw one of the dinners Ty made us and eat it silently while Gabe chatters away about his day.
Tuesday is a repeat of Monday, and Wednesday is even worse than that. I’m so anxious, I can barely function at work and can hardly manage to chew as Gabe and I work through yet another one of Ty’s dinners.
“Did Dad call today?” Gabe asks around a mouthful of food.
“Not today.” I clench my jaw tight and grip my fork in my fist.
“Do you think something’s wrong?”
Yes. Yes, I think something is terribly wrong. I’m afraid he’s hurt or worse and that I’ll never find out because the military doesn’t even know I exist.
“I don’t know,” I say and then put my fork down and fold my hands in my lap.
“What’s wrong, Mom? You keep saying it’s nothing but I don’t believe you.”
I take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I haven’t heard from Ty in a couple days. When we talked on Saturday, it sounded like something went wrong and then our call dropped. I keep waiting to hear from him but…” I look at my son and shrug. “I’m really worried.”
I hang my head and Gabe sits up even taller. “He’s okay.” He smiles at me, so very sure of himself. “He just got busy, that’s all.”
“You think so?” I ask, as the few bites of dinner I’ve taken lurch in my stomach. “How do you know?”
Gabe nods once, looking so much like Ty that my heart shatters into bits and pieces of worthless dust. “I just know,” he says.
After Gabe goes to bed, I spend the night rereading all the letters Ty sent me. And when I’ve gone through those, I open up his emails. And then our texts. I listen to voicemails I’ve saved. I immerse myself in his words and thoughts, wrap myself up in him and imagine he’s here next to me.
As I read, I cry. I let the tears run down my cheeks, laughing through them when his words touch me, and sobbing deeply when they make me miss him even more than I thought humanly possible. A part of me realizes I’m grieving, but I lock that thought up tight and refuse to listen to it. I’m not grieving because he’s not dead.
He’s not.
He can’t be.
Because I don’t know how to live without him anymore.
My grief gives way to rage and I pace my bedroom, my hands clenched in fists. When that’s not enough, I punch a pillow, and when that’s still not enough, I throw the damn thing across the room. It hits the wall with a thud and then drops uselessly to the floor. A scream builds up inside of me, but I can’t give in to it because Gabe’s asleep. Instead, I let out a deep growl that sears through my throat.
“Why?” I ask no one, my voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “Why is this happening? Why is there absolutely nothing I can do to make things any better?”
I don’t get an answer, of course. I didn’t really expect one. Frustration wells up inside me. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting for an answer that just keeps not coming. I have to find a way to get through this because the waiting, the not knowing is going to kill me.
Desperate for action, for a task to give me direction and meaning, I sit down at my desk, open up my laptop, and pour my heart out to Ty in an email he might never get.