This post was originally written on May 5, 2008 when I blogged over on mySpace. I brought it over and parked it here on Inmates. We had just found out about the deployment and it was a very tough time for me. It is even tougher today. I miss you, McDaddy!
It is Saturday afternoon. I am watching the boys run their Thomas the Train engines on McDaddy’s back. It is cold and windy and I am wondering where the warm weather is.
And, how long it takes for robin eggs to hatch?
And, what I should wear to the wedding tonight?
And, what I should wear to McDaddy’s pinning tomorrow?
McDaddy is being promoted from Captain to Major in the Air National Guard in the morning. We will miss church to honor him. He is an awesome husband and father. I am blessed to share his life. He is the kind of guy that does the right thing even when no one is watching.
He is the place I run to when my simple world gets all jumbled up. His hands are the ones I look for when I need to be held. His smile can make all things right when things are going wrong. I am proud that he is my husband.
I am sitting in my bloggy chair (the blue recliner that sits right beside of our bay window), listening to my playlist, trying to post something entertaining. Something of substance. Something of interest.
I cannot dig deep enough to pull something like that out today. I am blessed beyond measure, yet, I am having trouble thinking straight. And, on top of that, McDaddy has asked that I not blog about it yet.
I don’t like being asked that.
Yet, I am a dutiful wife.
And a dutiful wife does not blog about off-limits stuff.
So, while I am one blessed gal,
and we are all healthy,
and we are all happy,
I have this thing.
This thing that I cannot blog about.
This thing that is looming over my head.
This thing that I would like to forget about.
This thing that has me sick to my stomach.
This thing that has left me with so many questions.
This thing that has me running right into his arms.
The same arms that held me when we stood at the altar in 1998 and pledged our lives to each other.
The same arms that held me when I battled depression.
The same arms that held me after the birth of our first child.
The same arms that held me after my grandma died.
The same arms that held me after the birth of our second child.
The same arms that held me after my papa died.
The same arms that hold me every time I need to be held.
The same arms that held me seconds before he boarded the plane to his current destination.
I need those arms.
I depend on those arms.
And, speaking of arms….
I have a right to bear arms.
For that I am thankful.
Thank you Major McDaddy for your service to our family, our country and our God.
I am proud to be your wife!