Dear God,


I guess I’m writing this letter to you because I don’t know how else to talk to you. There’s something about trying to talk to someone in the sky through my head that makes me feel like a crazy person. Of course, writing a letter that will never be postmarked isn’t entirely all that different.

I'm scared.
There are so many things running through my head. I don’t know where to go or how to handle the next twenty-four days. If you’re the God I’ve been taught to believe in, you’ll know what I’m talking about. You’ll know how scared I am to watch him go. It’s easy to be brave when he’s holding my hand, or when I can giggle and smile when I get a text from him. But it’s nighttime now, and I’m alone, and suddenly, it’s not so easy to be brave. No matter how much I believe him when he says that he’s not really leaving, it still feels like I’ll be watching half of me walk away, leaving the rest of me to sort out and pick up the pieces, trying to make them fit back together somehow even when there are parts missing.

I know I always say that somehow I need these two years just as much as he does for a reason that I don’t understand just yet, but the truth is, I’m terrified that I'll relive April 14th until he comes home. I know that I’m going to break that day, and that I won’t even want to try to pick up the pieces, and that no one here will do it for me. I know that on April 11th, the edges will start splitting and the stitches will come undone prematurely, and I’ll know that it’s the end of another chapter of my life, and that he won’t physically be in the story for pages yet to come. At that point, I'll know that the most I can hope for is a hug to last me through two years, and I'll know, that all too soon, I'll forget what it feels like to have his arms around me.

.......