My husband has fallen down on his letter writing to me. I understand, he is very busy doing secret squirrel stuff, but I still would like to get something in the mail.
Today, as the mailman pulled away, my son came in with the mail, waving a "we tried to deliver a package" note. I knew, I just positively knew it was something from my husband. My son willingly ran down the block and caught up with our mailman to get our box. He ran it back to me, and I could not wait to open it.
First, I open the letter to the kids and we go over every thing he has sent them: marshal star pins, dog tags from the chaplain, cigar tins, t-shirts. I see things in the box I know are mine: an insulated coffee mug, a shot glass, a Ziploc baggie of sea glass. But it's the teddy bear that has me stumped. Are the kids to share it? He didn't mention it in his letter to them.
I spill my sea glass across the table, touching every piece knowing he picked up each piece himself, walking the beach thinking of me. I arrange them in a dish on the table so I can look at them every day. Then I settle in to read my letter. The first two pages don't mention the bear, but they mention everything else. I'm really curious about the bear.
Turn to the last page, and as I read it, I could feel tears starting to burn my eyes. He bought the bear a week before he sent the box, and slept with it every night. He thought I might like to sleep with it, kind of like a connection to him. He got the idea after hearing a song that says, "send me the pillow that you dream on...."
He couldn't send his pillow, but he did the next best thing.
And yes, absolutely, the bear is sleeping with me. It is a connection to him. He had this close to him, and now I can hold it close to me. It's the best I can do, and after all these months apart, it is pretty darn good.
The bear and I retired to my room immediately, to cry a little, and to write letter number 87 to my husband. Four months and thousands of miles have not changed how he absolutely knows just the thing to do that will make me fall more in love with him.
Emma, move over a smidge. We've got a new nighttime companion. I think you'll like him, he smells just like Dad.