Most days when my husband comes home I usually say something about him leaving his huge, bulky, stinky, sweaty boots in the middle of the floor. Those boots walk many miles everyday. They are worn every single day, from before the sun rises and until it goes down. The boots are a part of his life and ironically, they are also a part of my life. When the boots are in the middle of the room, he’s home. And when there are no boots to be found, he’s gone. Yes, I often get frustrated when he walks all around the house with his boots on, especially since they travel everywhere. Yes, I get annoyed when I fall over the bulky things. But on Tuesday night I stared at those boots and my heartÂ ached. Those boots were leaving. In less than twelve hours they would be gone and on their way to a very, very far place. I realized I wouldn’t see those black dusty boots for the rest of the year. I totally have a love hate relationship with those boots. But when the boots are gone, it’s just another reminder that the man who wears them on a day to day basis is also gone.Â
That’s when I look at those boots and tell myself, I love those boots. I love having them around. I love falling over them. I love all the dirt they track in. But more importantly, I love the man who wears them and comes home at the end of a long day.
This is deployment. It will not kill me. I will kick it in the butt because there is always an end of the day and a tomorrow. And I will win. I will not be overthrown. I will spend every single holiday alone, anniversary, and birthday, but by the end of the day, I am one day closer.
I didn’t see the boots last night. I didn’t see them this morning and I won’t see them for the next many, many days. He took his boots with him and the ship took my man.