It’s two in the morning, the end of January and I can’t sleep, again. This has become a constant in my life recently, I lay here, I yell at the cold empty side of the bed, I apologize cry and lay here again, staring at the painting your sister made of us on the opposite wall. I’ve given up trying to sleep without being curled up in your strong arms. I lay awake for days and when sleep finally takes my tired mind I toss and turn until my eyes fly open with my clothes drenched and my screams dying, but the few hours I did sleep give me the energy to lay awake another week.
I write to you now not to complain, not to burden you, and certainly not to ask you home, but to tell you I miss you and I pray every night for your safe return. I see other women walk the streets, heavy with the burden of knowing their daughter’s dad won’t come home, or their unborn baby won’t meet their father. I… I know no one has heard from you, but I know your alive… you have to be, you promised you’d come home and sire me the family we’ve always wanted. It’s almost like your on another world, for the past year I haven’t heard a thing, the army won’t say if your OK, they say there are just too many of you to keep track of. I hate that your over there so far from reach, I hate that you have to fight, I hate that your not here, and I hate that they think your missing. I got a letter, it said in bold letters LIEUTENANT SHAN: MIA.
I clutch at the ring you gave me, it still sits upon the chain around my neck, I have been tempted to put it on my finger, but I promised I wouldn’t and I won’t. I clutch at the ring as I think of you, I clutch at it as I pray for you, I clutch at it as I write this. Your mother came by today, she told me to write a letter to you I’d never send, but I still want you to read this, so please… please come home and read this… I beg you, please I love you
with love,
Bastilla