Hearing my husband yell into the phone, "You're not doing fine, dad! Your not!" And watching him break down sobbing because his father is making it so difficult to do this one small thing for him.
Watching my husband calm himself as his father finally agrees . . . at least temporarily. And then sitting on the sofa, rubbing his back, staring out at the waves on the beach, and knowing that this brief get away is going to end earlier than expected, because he needs to be back at home with his dad.
So we pack everything up, and as he loads the car, I stand on the balcony looking down at the beach as the waves crash, while a storm moves in, and I see the sand castle we built that morning still standing firm in the face of wind and waves. I cry at the thought of leaving it behind. Knowing all the while that it remains in my mind as a picture of this life, this marriage, this husband of mine -- standing firm in the face of wind and waves crashing all around us.
linking up with imperfect prose on thursdays and Write on Edge

