Phantom Pain

Experts describe "phantom pain" in the most basic sense as "pain that's coming from a body part that's no longer there." That is the closest description I've been able to find for how I feel with Joshua gone. On a practical level, I know that my pain doesn't come close to that of those who loose a limb but emotionally, a part of me is gone. Every time I read a funny email and click to forward it to Joshua I'm reminded that he won't get it for months. Whenever the boy does something funny or frustrating like this morning when he (WARNING: IF YOU DON"T HAVE CHILDREN, THIS MAY REALLY GROSS YOU OUT, DON'T FINISH THE SENTENCE) took off his diaper and crapped in the corner...brought a whole new meaning to having a crappy day. The first thing I did, after cleaning up, was grab my phone. I hit the quick link button on the face of my phone to text Joshua and typed in "you will NOT believe what YOUR child just did." I had just finished typing the word "did" when it dawned on me that Joshua wasn't at work 2 miles away from our home as he used to be; he wouldn't come home at lunch and give me a mini-break to recover from the morning. It's been nearly two months but I still forget from time to time. He's 409 miles away (yes, I googled it) and the only way he'll know about today's little adventure is if I write him or remember to tell him the next time he calls. He's my best friend and before he left, we were that couple that rarely went out without each other. We're home-bodies and we'd rather stay home playing Monopoly (ok, I'd rather play Monopoly, he'd rather play Wii) than go out with other people. In fact, I think I used to like my occasional girl's night out so much because at the end of the night, I got to go home to him and the boy. I miss him and today the "phantom pain" is a little stronger than usual.