by Amy Lynne

Created on: May 02, 2007

From the moment I met him, I knew it was fate. My husband and I met one month prior to his deployment to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. I admitted to him that I was reluctant to begin a relationship knowing he would be away for 12 months, but my heart won the battle. I chose to wait for him to return home. For 12 months, I rode on faith. I kept busy with family and friends. I excelled in my career. I joined the gym.

When he returned, well, lets just say Shakespeare couldn't have created a better love story. We became inseparable. Shortly after his return, he proposed to me. Being the perfect gentleman, he asked my parents permission. The army had molded an already perfect man into a man that had manners. And made the bed daily. And ironed. Really, what more could a girl ask for? OK, just kidding. He is amazing for much more than that. He is a dedicated lover, friend, soldier, son and husband. Being an army reservist, my husband assured me that after his previous 12 month deployment to Cuba, he had only 2 years left to serve, and felt that another deployment wouldn't be likely.

We had a fairy-tale wedding. We bought a home. We bought a puppy. We settled into a lovely routine. Weekends filled with laughter, fixing up our new home, dinners, nights out with friends. We became comfortable. In six months, he will have finished his 6 year service. We laugh at how silly we are, even when he goes away for drill one weekend a month, we e-mail and call each other to "check in." He laughs at my stories about the creaks and cracks I hear in the house while he is away, and he is amused that only such things happen while he is away. He often jokes with me that he doesn't know how I survive the weekend without him.

Then came Friday, the thirteenth of April, 2007. After a lonely weekend, I welcomed my husband home from his weekend drill at the Army. His demeanor was different.

He learned he is going to Iraq for 12-14 months. I thought I had mentally prepared myself for such news. I knew, after all, that there was always a possibility of him leaving again with the war and all. But I wasn't prepared enough. I tried to be strong. I tried to remind myself that he was fulfilling his duty as a soldier. I tried not to be selfish. But I broke down. Together, we cried. I don't think I left my bed for at least 2 days. How could this happen? And why now?

The words of others are less consoling. My family tells me to cherish every moment with him. That is what I do, regardless of whether he is going away or not. My friends tell me to be strong for him, to be proud of him. Everybody dances around the reason for my tears. The fear that eats away at my soul. The harsh reality that he may never come home.

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