Dear Husband, I didn't know you when you signed those papers, or last wore those clothes.
It's even difficult for me to recognize you in some of those pictures, and get giggly when I see those tiny little pants! You just slightly resemble the boy in those images. And even though one of my life's wishes is to have more time with you, I knew when I met you, it was exactly meant to be.
When I started to clean the basement this week, in preparation for the outdoor furniture to come in, I had no idea what I would uncover. This stack, these documents, the uniforms, the memories, were all sitting, un-covered stuffed into a plastic bin in the basement of our 100+ year old house. Our 100+year old house with the fieldstone walls, and in some places dirt floors! I couldn't believe this was all buried in our basement.
So I did what every sane person would have done. I promptly prepped all the archives and put them in a place of honor. I steamed the shirts and slid them over hangars. I cleaned off the certificates, and carefully hung them under glass. And I unburied your white cap, and made sure it would be carefully propped.
For all the stories you have told me, for the 12 hours treading water in the ocean, for all the meals tasted out of tin cans, and all the Sundays you were able to call home, only to hear gallivanting. I give you this: A home that will always be warm and welcoming. A place for all your memories, and medals, and meals that never came from a can. Doggies that will greet you at the door and dance when you play with them. And a girl named Dianah, that #wouldn'thaveitanyother.
Dear Husband, this is why you're Married