Someday these will just be stories that we’ll tell our kids. How we got through the three years of you being in the service while I was struggling with being madly in love with you. How we got through two and a half years of me going to Florida State while you were back at home. How we spent the summer before I left together, and we fell in love. Well, at least you did. I had already fallen. I have the bruises to show it. How we went to Virginia for Winter Break because you listen to me. We fell even more in love, and we started the year how we wanted to spend the rest of it: together.
We’ll tell our kids that for the best things to truly work out and be the best things, you have to give them time and you have to work through them. Elbow grease is something you should become familiar with. We’ll let them know that we talked on the phone every single night while we were away from each other, and how we drove up or down every chance that we got. We’ll exchange stories on summers that we spent together and explored our relationship.
We’ll tell them how we were so in love that we argued quite a bit. About whether our kids would go to Ivy League schools, or who was going to be in our wedding party. We argued about not arguing, and about boys and/or girls that got in the way of our destiny.
You will tell them about the wonderful times you spent back home from the military. All of your escapades with their Uncle John, and how great of a rager their Dad could throw.
I will tell them about how wonderful college is, and how I learned so much about myself that I never would have discovered if I hadn’t left. I’ll make them understand that if you don’t know yourself, you can never really know someone else.
But, most of all, we’ll agree on the fact that this separation sucks.
We’ll agree that, though worth it, it was miserable at least half of the time.
We survived it, but we didn’t enjoy being away from each other. Not for a single second.