He used to say that the hardest part about spending the night with me was saying good-bye. I’d laughed at him then, believing that there were several things considerably more difficult. For one, there was sneaking out of the military compound in the middle of the night. Then, there was sneaking back in before early morning roll call. Despite all the risks he would take to be with me for those few hours, he remained adamant that the hardest part was leaving me behind when he had to go back.
We would watch movies together. Some were romantic, funny, or scary. There was the occasional terrible one that put us to sleep. There were nights when we would stay up and talk; there were no secrets between the two of us. We would laugh and doze between the tangled bedsheets and the safety of our embrace. He was my best friend, and I was his; there was nothing in the world that we wanted more than one another.
He was the handsomest man that I had ever met. He had the greenest eyes full of passion, kindness, and love that you only read about in fairytales. His hair was dark, thick, and soft, and every now and again he would ask me to run my fingers through it to put him to sleep. He could do anything. From building a bookshelf to wiring our house, there were no limits to the things he could do. I adored him completely, and the way he looked at me stole the very breath from my lungs.
When we finally got our first house, he picked me up and carried me over the threshold. I remember the child-like gleam in his eyes as he sat me down on the counter and welcomed me to my new house. He kissed my nose, and told me how proud he was that we had made it this far together. I was his princess; his baby girl; his sidekick. And he… he was my everything.
Sometimes while I was cooking in the kitchen, he would surprise me and come home early. He would wrap his arms around my waist and kiss my cheeks. There were nights when we forgot all about cooking dinner and we would dance around the kitchen until the early hours of the morning. I remember the nights he would carry me to bed after I fell asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home.
He used to tell me that my eyes reminded him of planets, and that every day he fell in love with me all over again. He never stopped opening doors for me, kissing my hands, and taking my breath away. I remember one morning he made me stay in bed so that he could make me breakfast. It tasted terrible, but the love and pride that I saw in his eyes when he brought it to me made it the sweetest meal I have ever eaten.
He taught me how to shoot a gun, how to fish, and how to build a fire with wood and shoelaces. He showed me how to tie all kinds of knots and how to make a duck call from a blade of grass. One day he rescued a little baby duckling from some bailing twine in the river and completely melted my heart. He was the best man I could have ever dreamed of, and I was so proud to call him mine.
There was one night that he took me out and we lied under the stars. He showed me every constellation in the summer sky. In the early hours of the morning, he woke me to see the meteor shower. It was one of the most breathtaking things I have ever seen. He told me to make a wish, and then he kissed my forehead. He told me that every falling rock was a thousand years that he had spent searching for me, and every day he thanked God for giving me to him.
For our first Christmas together, we bought each other a puppy. It was completely unexpected, but wonderful. We ended up with two dogs: a yellow lab named Charlie and a Husky named Georgia. I remember him holding me in his arms and telling me that our babies would love them. I realized then that he was ready to start growing our family. I was so happy that I started to cry. We were going to be a family: the two of us, Charlie, Georgia, and our babies.
Then he got called overseas. They needed him to fight the good fight. He tried to get out, but he was under contract. They told him just six months, and he could be done. He promised that when he came home, we would start our family. It was only six months, and he would be back in my arms before I knew it. Those perfect green eyes held so much promise and love, so I kissed him goodbye.
Six months turned nine, and the letters slowly became nonexistent. I kept waiting for him to come home to me like he promised me that he would. A year had gone by before the men in uniform came to bring me the news. Missing in action, they told me. They handed me a folded up flag in place of the man I loved and offered their condolences. There had to be some mistake, I told them; he had promised me he would come home. It felt like the entire weight of the world had landed on my chest; I couldn’t breathe. They told me he was gone, and it was time to pick up the pieces and move on.
I waited for months for him to come home. There were nights I lied awake until the sun came up over the horizon. I couldn’t just let him go – I was surrounded by our photographs and all the memories that we had built together. His clothes in our dresser, our wedding pictures, and the dogs. There was nothing I could do but mourn the loss of him.
Years passed by, and I never heard from him again. I eventually remarried a doctor from Austin. I moved in with him and packed all the things I’d held onto all those years into a box and hid them in my closet. I brought Georgia and Charlie along. Together, my new husband and I started a family. I had two beautiful sons and a daughter. There are days where I still pull out the old photographs to look at those perfect green eyes that once held all the promise and love in the world.
There are still nightmares. I dream of his laugh, his touch, his smile, and his embrace. Sometimes I wake up searching for him. I still anxiously wait for him to walk in the door and tell me that he’s sorry it took so long. I keep waiting for him to come home to me like he promised.
Now I’ll admit that he was right: saying good-bye is the hardest part.