Sky's Letter

"We were together. I forget the rest."

— Walt Whitman

Dear Sky,

How unfair of me. I wrote our daughter a letter, but not you. But before she was thought of, there was you and there was me. There is us.

I think about the three of us all the time, of course. You promised, after the hospital goes quiet, the lights go out, and she goes to the nursery, you'll lie next to me on the tiny bed with the itchy sheets, and you'll hold me through the night. You don't know how much I focus on this. When I feel the waves of pain that are getting stronger every day, I remind myself that you will be there. I can get through the months of deployment or these long days of AT, but to know that I will be in your arms when our daughter is born is a comfort I constantly dream of.

Remember a few weeks ago, when some of the reality of all of these changes started to sink in? You refused to go to sleep until I told you what was wrong. But when I listed off all my worries about motherhood, about the way I felt things would change between us, you quietly laughed and, cupping my face in your hands, you told me that things would be fine. You told me everyone worries and that we won't change in any bad ways. You said we'd be a family. It didn't phase you a bit, and we both fell asleep afterwards in peace.

Maybe my fear of things changing is because I typically hate change. But maybe the biggest fear is because we are so perfect now. From day one we have loved each other in such a deep, nonsensical way. If we would have walked by a courthouse that first weekend together, I have no doubt we would have been married even longer now. Your hugs have always felt right, and your hand and mine fit perfectly. You make it seem like Amelia will be a cherry on top of the life we have, and though I believe you, it's hard to picture being closer to each other.

I told you before you left that I was doing much better with your drill weekends away. Those first few months, I would say goodbye to you, shut the door, and cry. I've gotten accustomed to them now, and can honestly say that they don't bother me like they used to- I can have a good weekend even though I miss you. But...this is different. Maybe it's because you're gone for a whole two weeks for AT. Maybe it's because I wake up every day wondering if today is the day that our baby will be born. I'm sure those things are both parts of it, but all I know is that I haven't been able to keep up my no-crying streak. I miss you, more than I have ever had to miss you since March 2009, and though I know it'll be over with soon enough and we'll likely be together for you to drive to the hospital, it's not what I want right now.

Tonight, I want you to hold me through contractions, to tell me good morning, and to pat the couch next to you for me to sit down. I guess I miss you this much because you will never understand how much I love you, Sky.

Come home soon. Soon.