this morning.

I put his toiletries in a clear plastic bag, checking to make sure all the little bottles are less than 100 ml or 3 ounces in size.  

I fold the last few articles of clothing, place four folders full of paperwork on top, and close up the bag.  I'm thankful for the small bag and the few pieces of clothing.  He'll be back soon.  A man always seems to find his way home when he runs out of clean unmentionables.  

I hand him his wallet, passport, and cold medicine.  The poor man has been feeling awful the last couple of days.   

I give him a slip of paper with flight information and his hotel confirmation number.  

I'm not used to this.  I am the one who goes, not the one who stays behind.   Sure I have spent what feels like half of our marriage waiting for him to get home from work, but such is life for the blue collar Mexican... Long, long, hours.  So I have learned to wait and be thankful for the time we are given.  But trips?  Never.  I have always been the one to hop on a plane, jetting somewhere north, leaving him behind.  But now its his turn.  

And I *should* be going with him.  But today marks 39 weeks of pregnancy and I have a sweet little boy to rock too.  Plane travel just isn't an option for me right now.  

Job and I walk him out to the front gate.  He kisses us both and tells us again how much he loves us. The gate closes.  Only then my tears begin to fall as my son shrieks with delight over the dog's antics.  

His bus is probably just now on the outskirts of town, but that man is missed terribly already.  

{After a long wait, we were given an interview for Rafa's U.S. visa.  The final step before being handed a green card, Lord willing.  The interview location?  Ciudad Juarez, a town that lies on the border of El Paso Texas.  He will be there until Tuesday.  Pray for us?   For all the little details and our hearts?   The paperwork, the pregnancy, Job and I at home, and the lonely days Rafa will spend there?  Many, many thanks.}