When I Don't Want Him To Know

Sometimes I think she's Izzy's personal taxi.  Actually, I know she is.

 So tonight I promised to take Emily home.  Way past my due.

 

It's dark and raining so he takes her - he really is too good to me.

 

I waited until he left to google Malaysia.

 

He'll be going in a couple of months.  There to build longhouses.

 

For 8943 days I've never been away from him for ten. 

Ten days on the other side of the world.

 

Little feet patter up and lean over my shoulder -

 

How safe is Mawasia? he reads.

 

Mommy, 'ou know Mawasia is safe.

 

And he runs to brush his teeth.

 

Now I hear in the back of the house a little tune -

 

How safe is Mawasia?  Oh, ohhhhh, how safe in Mawasia?

 

And I run to son and see him swiping imaginary sword into space of imaginary something and I say-

Hush, don't sing that.  Daddy will know I googled it.
 

What is it I don't want him to know?

 

How nervous I am?  How frightening the thought is of him being so far away?  Of him not being in America?

 

And I know this is a dream come true for him.  It would be for me.

 

Or maybe I don't want him to know how little my faith is?

 

How I'm already questioning is this right?  Him away so far?

Us being left without him?

How I wonder why my comfort can't be with him here beside me when I know there is no comfort in any place other than the place called?

For other than the place called only is restlessness.

For out of will is only restlessness and pieces missing and searching.

And I hear him stomping the rain off his shoes at the front door.  I hit the exit button and promise myself no more questioning.  No more fears of the unknown. 

For faith large only has to be as big as mustard seed.