Elizabeth and Sonora have been gone for five days. They are visiting Elizabeth's family in Utah; Elizabeth's grandfather passed away and they are going to go to his funeral. Grandpa Porter was a very good person. I didn't meet him until he was well into his eighties and stooped with age, but his smile still was young and his kindness full and genuine. I'll miss him, though for several years he has been more than ready to go and be with his wife, whom he loved fully. They were one of those couples who made it, who provide young couples with hope; after more than five decades of being together, they still took obvious delight in each other's presence. After she died, he sort of deflated and seemed to gain some hope from each passing sicknesses, as if he was thinking: this one might be the one that takes me away to see her again.

And so Elizabeth has gone away to be with her family and to remember her grandfather. I would have gone also, except that I can't miss more than a day or two of teaching class. She didn't want to make the trip as short as it would have to be to get me back to class, so she drove the 650 miles without me, keeping Sonora occupied with a steady stream of toys and snacks (along the way, Sonora had one of those milestone moments: she peed on the side of the road; Elizabeth told me over the phone and we were both proud of our daughter).

The trip to see her family came at a good time for Elizabeth; she has been missing a connection with other women (she even read The Red Tent for a second time recently, though she usually doesn't read books twice). She wanted to be surrounded by femininity and her seven sisters and mother could provide for this need and they have been. Though she loves our house and our yard and Sonora and me, she gets lonely out here in our village. There are very few women she can connect with and those few are usually quite busy. So when she decided to leave for a week, I was glad for her; she could lower her bucket into a river of femaleness and refill herself.

The problem is that she will come home. I miss her and she is beginning to miss me, but she will soon feel the absence of her sisters when she gets back here, especially as she approaches child birth. Elizabeth will be doing a home delivery and would like nothing more than to have women around to support her who loved her. One will be there for sure and maybe two, but I sense in her a desire to be completely enshrouded and buoyed up by women who were once girls with her. They won't be able to come because the distance is too wide and lives are rooted where they are, but the desire is there.

Soon after Elizabeth and I got married eight years ago, Grandpa Porter visited me to tell me to always treat Elizabeth with respect, love, and patience, no matter what. I've tried hard in my own way to do these things, and, along the way, I've also somehow added this expectation: her complete happiness is my responsibility. She has told me this is a ridiculous expectation and I mostly agree with her, but it is deep-rooted. The thing is, and she is usually mostly glad for this, I'm not a woman. No matter the health of our relationship, I'm a man who does not provide a feminine connection. I will of course be at the birth to support her, to assist her, but I can't be a sister.

Elizabeth is gone right now, and I miss her; I feel a little bit deflated. The wonderful thing is that she will be coming home, and she will keep coming home for a long time. We are slowly becoming no longer a young couple; in less than two years, we will have been married ten years. In forty years, I hope she and I will will have a relationship comparable what her grandparents had at that age. I guess I just need to remember that her sisters and the occasional close friend will be a necessary part of her happiness, and therefore part of mine.