This is not a post I want to rush through.

Because the moment I am about to describe is sacred.  It’s a moment that I hope to hold fresh in my mind until he returns home to me. Because you see, it was our last moment together.  Our last moment together before I boarded a plane and flew west and he boarded a plane that would take him east.  A moment that would be strong enough to get us through the 7,000 miles that would soon separate us.

So with tears lining my eyes as I write, you can see that this is not a moment, a post, that I want to rush through.

It was a warm, spring day in April.  I wore a long flowing dress to match my long hair that fell limp to the North Carolina humidity.  We drove hand in hand on an adventure to the ocean.  We didn’t know exactly where we were going, but we trusted the little blue line on our iPhone map to lead us to the water.  We were expecting a beach.  Me, I was imaging rugged, paint chipped white picket fences lining our path along the sand.  Withering in the wind amongst tall grass.  The sound of the waves crashing against rocks.

Unfortunately, we reached the end of our little blue line on our iPhone map to discover quite the opposite.  Though we were technically at the ocean, it looked more like a lake.  There was no beach but tall trees and a green, grassy park butted up against the water.

We exchanged glances and smirks.  Maybe a chuckle or a wise comment under our breath.  Neither of us really said a lot, wanting not to taint our last moments together with disappointment.

So we did what anyone would do at a park.  We found a nice park bench and cuddled up, enjoying the warmth of the sun beating down on us and the pressures of all that lie ahead lift — if only for this moment.

In our usual, human Tetris puzzle, my head rested upon his shoulder, his arm framing us, we sat still for a while until the sun became too much to handle, pushing us to find a shade tree.

We walked leisure through the grass until John stopped, crossed his legs and plumped down in the fresh, green grass.  Naturally, I laid down and rested my head in his lap.  I looked straight up at him, catching his eyes from underneath his sunglasses.

We were silent for what seemed like hours, just enjoying the breeze and the fresh air.

Naturally, it was me who broke that silence.

“Hey sweetheart?” I asked quietly and slowly.

“What’s your biggest fear when it comes to us?”

I could feel his posture soften.

He looked down at me, my head in his lap, and took a deep breath.

Exhaling everything out, as if he was surrendering to this thought stored in the back of his mind,”That you’ll never know how much I care.”

Here we are a couple of weeks later and I’m still humbled by his words.  That behind his quiet and tough exterior, behind all the knowledge need for battle, there is a sweetness.  A concerned heart.  A heart that worries that I will never know how much he cares about me.

***

We’d like to dedicate this post to all the men and women who fight for our freedom.
Especially to those who have or will be in front of our camera.

Casey and LeAnne
Ryan and Emily
Jason and Cherie
Jon and Elise
JP and Tonya
Tory and Tom
Levi and Amber
Jeremiah and Lizzy
Heath and Allison

Thank you for your service and support at home.  For giving a little piece of yourselves so that we may be free.

You’ll never know how much we care.