Hope.

It's been some time since I blogged last. I haven't had much to say. I'd settled into the life as a inmate's woman and watched the time slide by. Things didn't change- there were the visits every few months, the thrill of seeing him, of kissing him, the frustration of limitations and rules, the horrid pain when I walk out those front gates without him, and the endless patience waiting for phone calls and letters. These are part of the endless sacrifice and compromise we women who wait for our men to come home make every day. It's become normal for me. So why write about it?

But as it has become more and more normal to me, I've found myself sliding into depression because I was unable to express the very real pain that goes along with this life. Mainstream society thinks that the inmate is the only one who pays for his crimes. No, we who love him or her pay too. And yes I know it's my choice, and yes the joy and love he brings to my life is still worth the choice I made. But that doesn't make the pain of living my life largely without him, unreal or excused.

But I am not writing today's blog to complain about my difficulties. Today, I'm writing because of hope.

I've been really down lately. It's hard to get up in the morning. All I want to do is sleep. I've had a ton of physical issues and illnesses that I know are brought on by my low spirits. It just seems so long until he'll be home with me and I get a little lost sometimes, thinking of the time span. But this afternoon when I woke up from a very long nap, I suddenly had hope. Why? Sitting in front of me was the shoe box full of his letters that I'd collected over the last two years. I've never thrown away one- I cannot bear to part with a word of what he's written to me. I'd pulled it out trying to clean up my bedside table and left it there. Now, as I woke from a sleep I hadn't meant to really take, I saw that handwriting and was suddenly inspired to re-read every letter.

So I did. And as I did, my head slowly became right again. The time stopped seeming so long until I'd be with him again. I realized with every word I read how incredibly lucky I was to find love at all in such a messed up world. How lucky, despite the challenges and obstacles, to find a man that understood me and adored me and protected me. Because that's what he does- every day- even from so far away.

Some people think that love is supposed to be this fairy tale where everything is perfect and all is happy, and as soon as the least challenge comes up, it's time to move on. That's where our society of instant gratification has gone. I know better. Love is when the chips are down and everything is against you, still being able to look at that other person and say "I love you no matter what. I'll always be here. We're in this together forever." It's being able to recognize that intangible, elusive emotion that drives humanity in all things, and that is the cornerstone of being an inmate's woman every day.

Hope.