There’s books and pamphlets and poetry
That tell you all about it
You know that it’s going to be hard
You know there’s going to be nightmares
And that you’re going to have to be strong
Hold his hand, tell him you’re there
Try to get him through the hard moments

What they don’t tell you
Is how different fingertips feel
After they have shot a gun
You sit there, and you realize he has taken lives
And you know it was honorable and tragic and sad
But you wonder how hands that have killed
Can touch you so lovingly

What they don’t tell you
Is how the sweat and the tears
Will stain both sides of the bed,
Not just his
You hold him, and you try to comfort him
But you feel scared and inadequate
And very much alone

What they don’t tell you
Is how different his kiss will be
You can feel him holding something back
When before, you had every little bit of him
But you weave your unhappiness into guilt;
Because you know he’s doing the best he can
And you have no right to be unhappy

What they don’t tell you
Is how frightened and cold it gets
When you feel like you’ve lost him
Whether he’s home or not
But you love him and you miss him
So you swallow your own tears
And wipe his away