I am so proud of him.
So damn proud. He’s doing everything he wanted to, living childhood dreams of serving the country to the best of his abilities.
However, I am also shallow. Selfish. I want him home, with me, in a pickup truck, smoke rising through open windows to the blue summer sky above.
Or dangling our boots from the top of Cameron, parked somewhere on an endless gravel road beneath a navy blue sky pinpricked with galaxies above.
Every time I describe a moment such as that, my heart and brain tangle together and leave my skeleton so far behind. And coming back down to Earth and real time splits heart and brain, a painful, painful mess.
It keeps happening.
The pull between being proud and being homesick for someone who might never come back. I make it sound dramatic, like he’s been deployed to a minefield in Afghanistan.
I know he’s fine. Happy. Doing what he loves.
It is just my selfish want of him that dampens the world to a dark grey of anything but happiness.
I’ll see him again.
He’ll be home, smarter and stronger, my cowboy will be.
Patience continues to be a virtue.