My husband is gone again. He flew back to Brussels this morning, followed by our usual long goodbye that goes like this: I begin feeling sad and somewhat anxious, even a little angry, the night before. I toss and turn throughout the night, trying not to be so painfully aware that I will not have his warmth beside me or coffee to to share with him in the morning for the next three months. But I am aware. Painfully. And I find myself wishing that he was already gone, so I could just begin the familiar time apart, change my rhythm, dive in with my friends again. I want to slow down time, but I can't. We have our coffee in the morning. The last coffee together for three months. I am sad, but there's nothing to say about it. This is how it goes. We've been here before, which is why I am annoyed at the repitition of my feelings. We drive to the airport in silence, because I am trying not to cry. Not yet. I park the car, help him get his boarding pass, not because he can't, but because that's what we do. We check his bag, and go to the coffee shop by the security line. We sit and talk -- or cry. I do. I did this morning. He tells me I'm his sweet wife. Then I walk him to the end of the security line. I try to pull in the tears, but I find it hard this morning. He tries to get me to smile, not wanting that to be the last thing he sees. After a few failed attempts to smile and more tears. I finally manage to smile. We hug and kiss, say I love yous and I walk away, not looking back, as I make my way back through the airport to my car. Knowing how it goes does not make it easier. We've found our rhythm together. When he leaves, the low calm notes, the ones that calm me, leave too. So it's time to dig into life again -- the one with me at the center. There's no way around it. Bring it on, winter. I am plowing through. I know spring is just around the corner.