That’s how he looks to me, as he lies asleep on the bed. I sit and stare at him, unable to sleep myself. I’d forgotten how he looked while he sleeps. So innocent, yet so strong. I’ve missed these little things while he’s been away. Simple things I’ve taken for granted, like being able to watch him as he dreams, or having his arms wrapped around me as I fall asleep. Such comforts that I’ve had to get used to doing without.
What does he dream now? Do the sand, the people and the sounds from over there invade what should be peaceful slumber? What has he seen and where has he been? What is it really like? Is he really OK?
So many questions that I want to ask, but I’m not sure I want to know the answers. And honestly, they don’t matter. I don’t need to know, at least not now. Someday, maybe, so I can understand what he’s been through. But not now. Not when we are finally back together. Not when what he needs is peace and relaxation.
This R&R is not for questions; it is not even for me. It is for us. It is our chance to reconnect and to rebuild our strength to sustain us for the remainder of the deployment. And it is for J, to restore his energy and to give him relief from the stress, so that he can go back overseas to continue his job.
And so, as I continue to watch him sleep, I find comfort in knowing that for now, he is safe. I cannot think about two weeks from now, when he will have to walk away from me one more time. I will not be saddened by the thought of returning to our home without him. I will be happy. He is here and I can touch him. He is mine again, at least for a little while. And that is enough.