My hubby returned this weekend after a six-month deployment to Afghanistan. Add in the time he took for training and travel, and he was away from us for a total of eight months. That’s a long time in adult-time, but when you figure out our son is only 17-months-old, that means his father was gone for roughly half his lifetime. Father and son have spent the last couple days getting reacquainted. That means lots of giggles and squeals and happy bouts of wriggling. For hubby. And son.
I am pleased to have my family intact again and relieved that the only explosions my husband is going to hear for a while are the harmless sounds of Fourth of July fireworks. As I struggled here on the home front, raising the wee one and trying to keep up with my writing, I know hubby was struggling under a rather different set of pressures. He’s a good man, a brave man, and I’m a lucky woman to be married to him. Welcome home, my love.