It happened. He left. Every time is hard, but this was especially brutal. Only on the second leg of his journey, and we both already sound like spent shadows of ourselves...
The conversation is already awkward and tiring; it is punctuated by his broken-voiced apologies, and my futile attempts to stifle my frustrated and angry sobs.
I dread going to bed tonight. I know he won't be there to annoy me with his snoring, to lie and say that he is awake when I just caught him dozing off instead of watching TV.
I miss him so much already.
The snowstorm I asked God for failed to materialize, and so, after a slight delay, he left. And I am left cursing the brutal efficiency with which the Army operates, except when it comes to returning him to me.