I missed Thursday's call and then Friday's. I blogged that already.
I was crossing the street when I noticed the second one and I thought, though just for a fleeting second, about stopping mid-stride. To say that I was angry with myself would be an understatement. Both prompted minor episodes of...[cough]...graceful disappointment but life went on. I kept the phone close all day Saturday and Sunday but by Sunday night I could no longer stave off the throes of absolute hysterics.
I struggle with the lack of control that this deployment seems to yield. Two missed calls back-to-back is one thing. Worrying that he might think it was intentional is another. After four days of furious festering, all I could think about was the probability that he had concluded I no longer loved him. In retrospect I can acknowledge the level of ridicule that this deserves, however in the moment it was reasonable fuel for a kind of discord that unhinged me. I couldn't tell him that I was punishing myself for the simple error of a silenced phone. I couldn't tell him that he had done nothing but make this easier for me, that I love him to pieces, that I was sorry. I couldn't do anything more than watch for a tiny screen to light up, "unknown."
This morning I finally got to talk to him. My mouth opened and apologies gushed like dammed water released -
I don't think I could be too angry to want to hear your voice. Please don't think I don't love you.
I think he phrased it as, "jumping to extreme conclusions," and I'm pretty sure he said so laughing. After all he knows me and how I let the cynical committee of judges in my head take over sometimes. He assured that he never once entertained any one of the crazy things that I had assumed and that he had never questioned how much he is loved.
After our conversation, I was too relieved to feel as embarrassed as I should have. He is the Reason and Strength in this couple. I grip tightly and sink in my heels, all the while hoping for just enough prowess to portray a state of sanity.