A Letter to my Husband

As I look into our closet today, I see three different uniforms that you wear. That of your past: your dress blues from your almost 15 years of service in the US Army, complete with your last name, service rank flags and various combat patches. Your present: an oil-stained, faded blue mechanics uniform with a nametag that reads: “Matthew”. And your uniform of our future: the leisure clothes you wear when you throw Liberty up into the air and hold me in after we’ve both had a long day. You’ve only ever worn uniforms, hats, garb, with a tag that clearly displays your rank or your title. They spell it to the world who you are without anyone having to ask, embroidered across your chest or printed on a hat. Do you realize that? Anonymity is something you’ve never known. You’re even registered as government property.

Do you realize just how many hats you wear for our little family, and how they've changed over the years? How much you juggle, and the things you’ve sacrificed to be here? Are you happy here? Are you who you wanted to be when you were young? Are you proud of yourself?

I’ve had these thoughts about myself. And no matter how well your spouse knows you, they’ll never hear your internal thoughts. I wonder if we share them, from time to time, something that you ask yourself one time semi jokingly but then it lingers there for days. An itch you can’t reach. What if I made one single different choice back then? Where would my life be now? You daydream a different life. Finally fading away a few days later after your daughter smiles up at you. Of course this is where you are supposed to be. Of course this is what you want. You reassure yourself.

I hope you are happy. I hope you never feel remorse or look back longingly, and that you go bravely and unapologetically in the direction our life is taking you. I am so proud of you, you deserve recognition for all that you do, tenfold. You’re unwavering in your commitments. You bear the weight of our family on your shoulders and we depend on you more than you will ever know. Sit yourself at the highest table where you belong. Our Sunday breakfast maker. I hope you see yourself the way I do.

One day soon we’ll live in the tranquil, serene mountainside. A new life, a fresh start. I promise. One that is all our own. You won’t wear a nametag, but instead you’ll choose to only share what information you want to with the world. You’ll blend in, come home after a long day's work to your loving nest, and do it again the next day. You’ll be yourself, the way only you want to be.

People will ask you, “so what do you do?”.

And you’ll smile.

One day you won’t wear a nametag for another company. You’ll have anonymity, and we’ll be free.

I can feel it in my bones.