As with any day, I have many things to do. Work, homework from fourth and first grade, as well as a toddler to keep happy under impossible circumstances; I must make sure each moment is filled to its maximum capacity. My life never stops, and doesn't let me catch my breath for even the slightest fraction of a second. It's been that way for over a year now.
As I drive up to our home, on the way to the door, somehow I remember the mail. I quickly grab the letters, which seem even more plentiful than usual, as if the gods of interactions decided I need more to deal with and worry about. There are three magazines, five real letters, eight advertisements, and a package. I manage to juggle these parcels in addition to the already abundant load of files, paperwork, and contracts I decided to work on tonight. The door does not respond to voodoo or magic words, so I stack it all higher to manage the keys. Once I actually make it through the door, every piece and object crashes down in a thunderous boom worthy of a spring storm. I sigh, leaning over to begin picking up. As a result, I end up sliding on an ad for the thinnest and most durable hand wipe made to date, and land smack on my bottom.
Sensing that surrendering is my only real option, I decide to sort and open the deliveries for the day on the floor. The package, with its elephant-like size demanding immediate attention, is naturally first on my list. It is a late birthday present for my youngest, which is in that stage of Barbie dolls and sparkly face paint that ends up as continuous new house décor. Uncle Harold, the unfortunate giver, always manages to buy the loudest and messiest toys for everyone else's kids, and I am sure that this one will not disappoint. I consider hiding it before the kids' bus drops them off, and then reject the idea. We all need as much indulgence as we can create, and the house is already a lost cause.
Magazines are from Boy's Life, for my eldest son, Reader's Digest, for my own pleasure, and Parenting, which my father continues to subscribe us to, even after many pleas to rid us of the lying and filthy rag. I recall how my own childhood was due to my nanny's worship of that so-called magazine, and will never put my children through the same horrendous pain.
Under more pointless postcards about acne, stronger deodorant, and miracle solutions to balding, I find the real letters from actual people who spell my name correctly and do not write the entire length in the address. Great-aunt Silvia sends her mindless drivel that is appreciated far more than I care to admit, Dad's professionally designed envelope peeks out from under my best friend Devon's monthly mention, and my old college roommate's mandatory "from friends letter" is probably due to just having heard the news. However, it is the note that is barely showing because it slid under our coat rack that has my attention. It is a normal envelope, in both size and width. Most would find it as complacent as a clover, but I am frozen with fear by the mere sight of that paper. This is for one reason and one reason only: the letter has the seal of the government on its front.
With a shaky hand, I reach out for the message that must be from the one I love. I cannot believe these words made it to me, now, and I do not let myself over analyze the miracle before my eyes. The postmark shows it was sent over a year and three months earlier, but even tighter security in the country and around the government causes everything to be delayed. I suppose that the letter fell between the cracks, and they decided to finish that job a bit behind schedule. However, I did not expect to receive this letter and become very anxious about its contents.
I never really knew what to expect when I opened a letter from my love. Sometimes the words were joyous, after a victory or helping another. Other times, the words screamed anger from across the oceans of how unfair life is, how no one but God should be deemed worthy of deciding who would die and who would come home. Yet others were touched with raw emotion, as speaking with a member of the opposition caused deep consideration of whether the exercise was even worth all of the pain others were put through. Still more had excitement that seemed to reach up and grabbed me from the page about how soon terms would end. Love was always sent, for everyone who was deserving and willing to accept it. However, this letter seems heavier than usual. I open it with the pace of a turtle and the reflexes of a frog's tongue. I unfold the paper, and begin to read.
To My Family,
Everything here is going to change. My assignment has been shifted, as I have been promoted and hope to make you proud. This new responsibility has forced me to stay on the front longer than expected, and I may not be able to see you all for a longer period of time. I know this may be upsetting to the rest of the family, as well as to all of you, but I feel it is my duty to serve to the best of my ability, and my honor to protect everything I love at home. I am sorry for this depressing news, but this is the way things must be.
The words are harsh, and not at all what I have come to expect. If not for the fact that I am already on the floor, my legs would have given out on me. The hard hand that had conjured these words did not flinch nor hesitate during the firing, and could not be from my love. I could never care for one so calloused.
Then, I remember that the letter seems heavier and bulkier than normal. I retrieve the envelope, and again search it for soothing comments. My desire is granted, as another paper is what I find. The handwriting seems hasty and emotionally driven, as if reconsideration had taken place, and the flow of words became uncontainable.
My Darling,
Please forgive my horrendous words from before. While I will leave them inside of this, please realize that I did not mean you to suffer because of me. I want you to see my mistake, and forgive me in person. At least, that is the plan.
When it came close to time for my end of battles and pain, I was approached by a senior officer that I highly admire and trust. He requested that I consider staying with the armed forces for a longer period, as a desperate need for soldiers with true drive has become increasingly rare. He informed me that I would receive a promotion, and that no matter what happened to me, you and the kids would stay completely safe. I believed it to be the opportunity of my lifetime, and took him up on it almost instantaneously. Of course, this was before I realized exactly what the extension would entail.
I have been transferred to a smaller battalion, one that hits the hard areas first to pave the way for the larger divisions. It is the force with the highest mortality rate of the present, and I am the new second in command. Being in this group means that I will do the most good, but also that I have a very large chance of not coming home. This is why I wrote the first letter the way I did, and also why I must now write the second.
I do not know how often I tell you this, but I love you. I love the way you smile when you see me coming home, laughing freely and gaily simply since you missed me. I love how you seem to know my moves before I consider them myself, and are my friend in every way that could possibly be. I love that your nose wrinkles when you think about important subjects, your eyes light up with excitement at the mention of any new concept that is yours for the conquering, as your fingers drum in anticipation of creating another masterpiece, and your shoulders shake uncontrollably whenever I force that beautiful laugh from your beloved lips. I love your wicked sense of humor, you compassionate idea of nurturing helpless people in need of the smallest incentive, and your charming wit that wins over anyone who listens for a moment to you speak.
I love what we have accomplished together. We planned for a lifetime, with a rollercoaster ride waiting in the shadows for us to board. We survived years of marriage, three wonderful children any parent would be desperate to have for their own, and kept our love alive through all of the trials and tribulations life threw our way. And, again, I love you for sticking with me, putting up with me, and letting me march to my out of sync drummer to preserve my happiness. I could never ask more of you, and yet I feel I must.
If I do happen to fall at the hand of an enemy, please do not stay in mourning of the rest of your life. You deserve so much better than to suffer permanently in a self-created hell of confusion and pain. I want you to find someone else who can care for you and the family. Though no one will ever love you as much as I do, and will continue to as long as you remember me, I know that another could help you cope, live, and continue. Instead of having an empty house to come to nightly, you can have a second love and my picture on your wall..
At first, you will not want to find someone else, and I would not wish to search for an equal to you, for the quest would be in vain. However, your next adventure should be the conquest of happiness, not the struggle through a maze full of disappointment and horror.
If I do make it back, I will love you, and continue to love you, for the rest of my existence. We will laugh at my absurdity, and I will get to see your beloved shoulders shake in laughter and nose wrinkle in thought of how I could possibly imagine anyone taking my place. But, please, for me, remember what I said. No one on earth deserves happiness more than you, and I do not want to be the horrendous force stopping you from achieving it.
I love you,
Chloe
By the time I finish reading the letter, tears coarse down my cheeks, and I do not care who sees me in this state. My darling Chloe, my beloved wife, died fourteen months ago. She was leading that battalion in an incredibly dangerous and infiltrated area, forging the path for one of the country's most impressive victories. However, that is not what I recall, and never will be. She felt so strongly about protecting me, and our children, and our country, that she decided to continue the fight, knowing that it would result in her demise.
She always said that she loved me, and told me that I would never be without her love. She wanted me to know that she was with me, even when she was in foreign parts of the world. Softly, she would whisper in my ear each night how she never wanted to let me go, for her heart told her that wrapped in my arms was where she belonged on this planet, in this lifetime. I would, in turn, reply she was my everything, and that I promised I was here to stay, forever and ever. It was our ritual when she was actually home, but I never had realized the phrases would really affect me quite like this now that she is forever gone.
I always remained here, being the hero in everyone's eyes, and yet she risked her very existence to save those around her. No matter how many feats I overcome, or the number of days I reach out to the children, I can never match what she has given to the world. As I am, my life is not in danger. Yet, Chloe knew the risks, and decided to protect us anyway.
I let myself forget what I needed to do, who was supposed to come in, why I had to care about anything but my Chloe. The kids arrive home with a bang of the back door, never seeing me lying in the front. I had finally begun to move forward again. I still thought about her always, but not with such a heavy heart. Now, the weight returns, and it includes a lead bar.
The desire to see my love became overwhelming. I force myself to rise, and pass through the living room entrance. I bring myself to the pictures on our mantle. The usual photos are displayed, with awards and precious moments piled and paraded to the rest of the world to fawn over in silent envy. However, right in the middle of the display, I settle my eyes upon my favorite picture.
She is laughing, head thrown back in jubilation and hilarity. Her eyes are closed, but I can still picture their porcelain beauty. That joy was caused by me, and I have always treasured the captured moment. My Chloe always hated the shot, but I kept it to remember her always at her best. This was the real her, not the stressed soldier, but the exuberant wife who gave more love to me alone than is possible for most in a lifetime. As I gaze at her face, I finally break down into sobs.
Even as a cry, what I come to understand is that I am not falling to pieces. My tears are pulling all of my doubts and fears together, forming instead a restored belief in tomorrow. My Chloe, my darling, beautiful Chloe, gave me permission to move on. She wants me to love again, to be happy again, and to create a new life as she is no longer here with me. That is how much she loved me, and still loves me, as I remember her love though she has passed on.
Suddenly, I hear a loud noise resound throughout the house. My mind tells me it's the phone, and to stand, go to the caller to see what they want. Out of habit, my body listens to the commands and walks to the kitchen. I bring it to my ear slowly after pressing the talk button. The person there on the line causes me to return to reality.
"Hey, Lex, it's Devon. My wife has a friend who agreed to go on a blind date, and has required that I find someone for her to go with. Before you say no, it would be a double… Hey, man, are you crying?"
My friend's words send me into a fresh wave of tears and heartache, both of which are induced from the letter written by my love. This is what she told me to do in her writing, to be happy with another and show them her picture every day.
This is my chance, to live up to her last request. Instead of responding with the usual 'I am not quite ready yet' line, I can try to achieve happiness again. Somehow, with the reading of my love's words ringing both in my ears and in my heart, I will go forward. So, with my beloved Chloe in my heart, I gave Devon my answer.
"Sure, I'll go."
Bet you didn't see that coming! Review if you please.
Love,
GypseyGrl77