The ink didn't run out.
In fact, the steadiness of my handwriting was gliding across the paper with ease. It wasn't until I looked outside and saw in the far distance, a doe and three baby fawns were staring back at me. A small, clever tear made its way onto the envelope and changed the curved lettering of "Iowa" on our return address.
In that moment I wasn't confident whether it was the sight of the deer, the difference in scenery of my backyard or the state I was now living in. Maybe it was a combination of them all. Maybe it was time to "address" our "return".
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Since March 2020, our family (like many) started to try and navigate through a pandemic. During this time, we made the life-changing decision to separate from the military. After long nights at the dinner table, poster boards of pros and cons and a trip spanning across the Carolinas, we settled on the beautiful area of Lake Norman, NC. Saying our Kansas goodbyes were met with challenges as the health and well-being of others were a top priority--unfortunately, many proper goodbyes were never had. Yet, we forged ahead and took a cross country trip (in the height of the pandemic) to the majestic landscape of North Carolina.
There, we bought our very first home. A rustic, cedar plank home with mighty pine trees that provided privacy, but also a sense of protection. The ten to fifteen deer that slowly made their way from the forest to our lawn daily was a scene from a fairy tale--one that I never wanted to stop watching. It was also here on the top of that very cul-de-sac where feeling of panic and uneasiness encroached on us.
Although chosen, the separation from the military was an unwanted divorce--one that left him feeling unsettled because the responsibility of service and sacrifice didn't seem as predominant in the civilian sector. While trying to find our footing, we were desperate for community. Those who are in the military understand and value that word: community. Even more so if you ever experienced the magic of Leavenworth, KS. But we weren't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.
But there he was--unrecognizable. So the answer (or so we thought) was to retreat.
The world was flipped upside down. Schools were virtual. Our boys were craving friendships, but also mourning the ones they had left. I tried to replicate what I had in Leavenworth--and in many ways, I accomplished that through the kindness of such welcoming and generous women. By the grace of God we were embraced by some of the greatest families in
such a short amount of time. That's why the pain and sorrow
of leaving North Carolina will never go away. Our gratitude for these families will never be equally repaid, nor will they ever know the hope and strength they provided us.
{Grief is unexpressed love. Holding onto it is a way of staying close to the people we've lost.}
_________________
The pen feels lighter.
The return feels uneasy and foreign, but the address(ing) was long overdue.
(Behind the smiles of a Christmas card or a social media post, is a family that is trying to heal.)