The Foxhole. Part I

Hmmm...
What do I write?
What do I write?

Do I write about how much I appreciate all of their kind words and faith-filled prayers that were specifically for me?

Do I write about how absolutely precious my husband was to me this weekend?

Do I write and tell them exactly what my doctor said so that we're all on the same page?

Or do I tell them how really, really, really hacked off I am?

Hmmm...
What do I write?
What do I write?

I'll be honest, if you're looking for "real" you have officially come to the right place. Cuz let me tell ya folks - it's about to get all rizzle up in hizzle.

I mean, what else am I supposed to do? Pretend like this isn't happening to me (AGAIN) and pretend like I'm not disappointed (AGAIN) and therefore pretend like everything is just going off without a hitch?

Uh, no.

Truth be told I may lose a few of you. I may talk about this today and I may talk about this tomorrow and I may even talk about this again on Friday. And you may get so sick of hearing about it that you move on to another blog, with funnier titles and snappy crock-pot recipes. (Not that I'm being sarcastic, though. I'm not! Because there is nothing I love better than a snappy crock-pot recipe). But this is, well, this is what's on my heart.

My heart beats with this loss. To not talk of this hurt would be to not talk about Remi or the AG. They are my heartbeats - therefore they are in my conversation. Sorry, that's just how I roll.

When I posted my feelings on Friday I never - ever, ever - expected to hear from so many of you. I assumed you would read my post and then ever so quietly tiptoe to the ESCAPE button and pretend like you never stopped by. Hoped I would never hear you come in and then leave. But you didn't. You came in, you read, you got angry and sad just like me, you posted your feelings and only then did you hit ESCAPE with all the frustration that I felt! And I couldn't thank you more.

I was so afraid that someone would leave me a message saying something like, "Well, hey stupid! Why did you tell us all in the first place? That's your own dumb fault!" But then I realized that I wasn't fearing one of you would say that, but rather that I wouldn't stop saying it to myself.

That was the reason I felt embarrassed.
I had shared my heart.
My plans.
And neither of them panned out.
It's kind of like running for Class President. You want it, everyone knows you want it. Why else would you make all those stupid posters and have your mom come and help you hang 'em around the school? Your feelings are out there buddy, you're wearing them on your sleeve. You make your election promises for vending machines and no after school detention and pass out hundreds of buttons. But when the big day comes - you lose.

Man, those days really blow.

So yes, I was embarrassed. But around 3:15 yesterday afternoon I decided this, "Melissa - you can go through it alone or you can go through it with friends. You're choice." So, I thank you.

The Attorney General was especially precious this weekend. Which speaks volumes to me - when his heart is breaking just as much as mine is. If I'm not mistaken I wasn't the only one crying in that doctors office. I wasn't the only one who felt like they had been forgotten. I wasn't the only one who felt like this must be some cruel joke.

And yet here he was all weekend, serving me. I woke up Saturday morning to a freshly drawn bubble bath and a cold glass of chocolate milk sitting on the side. In the middle of my bath he brought in my laptop and sat it on the side of the tub.

Now, I must admit that at this point I assumed he was going to throw it in while screaming, "I can't take it anymore. I'm killing you off and ordering one of those Russian brides that don't speak English!" And even though in one sick aspect I wish that would have happened, he just pushed PLAY and had an episode of The Love Boat waiting and ready for me to watch. Ahhhhh...a bubble bath, chocolate milk and Captain Stubing. What could be better? (Is this too much information?)

Later that afternoon he whisked me away to the Marriott just down the road where we could "get away." He put us up in a beautiful room, took me to my favorite restaurant and a funny movie. And then we sat up in our hotel room bed till past midnight just talking. Sharing. We laughed and cried and got mad and then talked about Remi and then shared some more...and, well, that was without a doubt my favorite part.

He said something to me this weekend that I'll never forget. He took my hand and looked at me and said, "Welcome to the foxhole."

A "foxhole" as most of you know is defined as,

"a shallow pit dug by a soldier in combat for immediate refuge

against enemy fire."

Rarely would a soldier find himself alone in a foxhole, but instead encamped with a fellow soldier. Someone who would "have his back," if you will.
Bonds were made in the foxhole.
Friendships were cemented in the foxhole.
Men became brothers in the foxhole.

We've been in a foxhole or two...or three...or four...in our day.
I know what it looks like.
What it smells like.
I know how small and tight and cramped it is.
And what it feels like to be stuck inside, when the weight of the world is falling down around you.

And I cannot imagine being inside of it with a better man.

So Saturday night, as I fell asleep with his hand in mine, I whispered "Welcome to the foxhole, baby," to which he sweetly replied, "It stinks in here."

To be continued...