Joseph & I on a date, about 4 years ago.
Joseph was a 1st year law student & I had just had Mali.
Part 4 of the series.
If you don’t know: My husband, Joseph is training to be a JAG officer for the U.S. Air Force. His training takes him away from us late August to just before Christmas. This is another installment of our correspondence.
I recieved a snail mail letter from Joseph last week. Here are few snippets.
I miss you a lot , but I’m comforted by semi-frequent reminders that this is right, on a lot of levels.
I’m proud to be here. Proud of what I am doing. I’m working hard, learning, trying to devote myself & be a leader. I am an officer, soon to be a Captain, & plenty of people will react to that, respect it.
There is a lot of sacrifice in what we do, & I mean as a family, & most people, or perhaps only some people, get that. Anyone with family in the military gets it.
[…] You asked me if being in the military will make me less tolerant of your spontaneous ways. It won’t. Truth is, though there have been moments of friction resulting from me wanting have events planned out, I am telling you now that I just adore your spontaneity & your flexability. No matter what I ever say about it, I am insisting right now that you don’t ever adjust or modify that particular piece of your character/personality. I can’t think of a time that we followed your crazy plans & I regretted it. It just takes me a moment to process.
I love that you are home-schooling the kids. I know that it is the right thing for them & for you. I know it’s hard & I really wish I was there to help, but it is exciting to me to think that my children are being taught by the exact teacher I would choose for them. You.
I miss you so much. I miss you in a way this is so much more intimate than the mere physical. I miss your spirit in my life, your fluttering butterfly-light existence. It is true that a part of me is satisfied with the regimented nature of what I do here, but in the the end, it is somewhat lifeless & dry.
I love you & can’t wait to have you splash back into my life.
I’ll see you soon then,