Rodeo Man

I clearly remember the moment I read Grant’s first ‘e-mail’ on Yahoo!Personals. I remember looking at a picture of this giant on a camel, grinning like child on Santa’s lap. I can bring to mind our first date as if it were yesterday: his truck, the dinner at A&W, waiting the whole movie for him to reach for my hand, hoping he’d kiss me at the end, and knowing on my drive home how different Grant was from anyone I’d met before. I close my eyes and see the small concrete stoop in front of his apartment where we discussed, only days after our first date, marriage and children and the rest of our lives together… and two weeks later, in a shabby hotel room with pizza and Pepsi, he formally proposed—me in my pink pajamas.
It is the memory of these moments, and the countless moments since we took our vows over three years ago, that have gotten me through the last few weeks. These memories are the rocks against which I will lean in the coming months without him.
Grant has decided to go overseas again. He has become bored again being stateside, as he did in Wisconsin, and he has the opportunity for a considerable career advancement by going back to Afghanistan. Though I will miss him terribly, I am supporting him. Traveling, adventure, chaos… these are the things his dreams are made of… and because I would never tolerate someone standing in the way of my dreams, I refuse to be the wife who stands in the way of my husband’s dreams.
In the next few weeks, when contracts are finalized and plane tickets are purchased, I’ll be packing up the apartment here in Virginia. While he flies into a war zone and settles into his new position, I’ll likely be loading a U-Haul or a POD and heading back to Texas with our two cats. As my husband chases his dreams in the coming months, I plan to chase a Master’s degree. But it is only with the memories of his love, the smell of his skin when he comes to bed, the goofy grin he gets when we watch Survivor, and the intoxicating feel of being cradled in his arms… it is only with these memories that I will make it through.  
It’s taken me weeks to write this much… when I am not panic stricken and overwhelmed, I am drained and exhausted. I am now only working three days a week at the job I should have quit months ago. I have every reason to quit now, but there is some part of me that refuses to let go, even though every moment there feels like a wasted eternity. When I am home alone on Mondays and Fridays, I am useless. Worse than useless… I long to sleep through it all, and on Mondays and Fridays, I often try. On the weekend, when Grant is home, I try my best to be supportive and good natured. I fail a lot, but I continue to try. It is so difficult to describe… I want to be strong.
I think it’s working… even though I seem to be falling apart. I will not ask him to stay. I could… and he would. I could call him on his way to the airport and ask him to turn around, and he wouldn’t hesitate. Knowing that he would stay helps me not to ask, helps me not to need to ask. Not only would he stay for me, but he would plow the road for my dreams, if I knew what they were. That is how much my husband loves me. The knowledge of the strength of our love, the memories of our time together, the plans for the future visits and vacations—though I seem to be falling apart, these things hold me together.