another day

another day comes and goes, and I find myself wondering what happened to the time. There's so much I want to do, to get done, and I don't have the energy or the will to do any of it. Get scolded by the docs, and I know they're right. I need to eat more, drink more water, and behave; and I find it harder and harder to do it. Then there's all the rest of the medical shit...

I can't help thinking back to last year. The year before that. WestPac, and the lonely freedom it meant. Getting married, and then putting my Sailor on a greyhound. Letting go. For somebody who doesn't want to give up the slightest bit of control in my personal life, it was a huge adjustment. This was something he wanted, and it was good for him, and I knew that when he enlisted. I just didn't want to lose him. I didn't want to have to face the loneliness. So I took another long look at things and realized that I wanted what was best for him over all else. I sent him off to RTC. I sent him off on that bus. My heart broke, and I told him that I loved him. He makes me happier than I ever thought I could be, and the twist to that is that he is one of the only people in the world that can shatter me. That's what happens when we love someone.

Got married, and everyone was so happy for me. The girls at work said I was finally settled. My family said it. They could see it. Finally, I was settled and knew where I fitted in- in my life, in my heart. And the clients asked me when they heard the news "how's married life?" And I would smile through my bleeding heart and tell them "It's a lot lonelier than I thought it would be."

We knew that there wouldn't be much contact. We knew it would be sporadic and maybe non-existant from time to time, and that phone calls were just about not ever going to happen. It just cost too much, and we didn't have the money. From October to April, there was one time I heard his voice. There were very few weeks without hearing anything at all, though. Email was our friend, we said. I'd hold onto that. In the morning when I woke up, I'd usually find a message waiting for me. Even if it wasn't long, it was something. And when I couldn't sleep because the news haunted my dreams, I could rest just a bit easier knowing that one of us was awake. We never slept at the same time. It helped.

And one day when I went to the airport to see his face again, I cried. Ran through the hall and threw my arms around his neck, like I'd seen on a hundred news clips over the previous months. Cause I wasn't alone, and even though he'd leave again before either of us were ready, I knew I wouldn't really be alone. There's always email, and somewhere we're still awake.