It is this time of night, when the house is quiet, and I’m not quite tired enough to fall asleep, but don’t have enough energy to find something to do, that the missing sneaks in, even if I don’t want it to.
It is the time of night when my brain can’t keep up, so I can’t just ask all of the questions over and over, as I know they will come when I wake up in the middle of the night or as soon as I wake up in the morning, and so, instead, I just am full of the missing.
I’m bored, so I scroll back through my own Facebook timeline, and I don’t mean to, but I get to June.
And the missing creeps through the crevice of the protection I’ve built.
I don’t want to read.
But I read.
I don’t want to remember.
But I remember.
I hate these times.
I wish I could fast-forward through these times.
I feel sure my neighbors within hearing distance could, too.
I wish I couldn’t miss this hard.
I wish missing wasn’t this hard.
I wish I could be so hard that I couldn’t feel the missing.
I used to think I was tough.
I used to think I was strong.
I used to think I had protected my heart enough to fend off any heart-hurt.
How silly of me.
How arrogant of me.
How naive of me.
Even Superman had his kryptonite.
And my Daddy is mine.