When I say that Squee isn't just my husband, but my soul mate, please understand that I mean it with all my heart. For some reason that makes absolutely no sense, Squee and I were made for each other. Our story is so simple, but so complicated, sometimes happy, sometimes sorrowful, occasionally tragic but we get through together, because we know we're worth fighting for.
Squee is my hero, though he cringes at the term. Without him, I don't know where I would be, but I know I don't like the thought. Every day, he battles with the TBI and PTSD that are his unseen scars of war, something to go along with the shrapnel scar in his neck from a mortar round that went off fifteen feet away from him, and the limp he gets when the hip he fractured in boot camp aches. No, he doesn't think of himself as a hero, but he bears the scars of one.
On many levels, Squee tries to downplay his service. He says he was only doing what needed to be done, and gave his service in the hopes that our daughters wouldn't have to sacrifice in the same fashion. He doesn't understand the depth of my gratitude for his service. He understands I'm thankful, but in all honesty, had he never served, we never would have met. We were set up by a friend in common while he was still in Iraq, and even then it was only a few emails here and there. We met when he came home on leave in October of 2004. He was a lean, strong 20 years old to my awkward 18, he was confident but shy, sweet but unlike anyone I'd ever met. I'd say that I was in love with him by the end of that first date, but really, thinking back, there might as well have been an audible 'click' when we first met, because that's when things changed so completely for me.
It was a Wednesday night at Great Clips where I was the receptionist, and I had just clocked out when his car pulled into the parking lot. One of my manager's regular customers was there, an older gentleman I called Mr. Edward, because while he gave me permission to use his first name, his age demanded a bit more respect. Mr. Edward had already finished with his haircut, nearly a half hour before in fact, but when he found out I was going out on a blind date he wanted to stay and meet Squee. Mr. Edward and his wife were two of the happiest, sweetest people I had ever met, and hopelessly in love after over 40 years of marriage, several of which his wife battled cancer. In my opinion, if there was advice to be given on finding your soulmate, and more importantly keeping them, I could ask them for it. So when Squee's car pulled in, and I felt that pre-date anxiety hit, Mr. Edward just smiled at me and said that being so nervous was a good sign, it meant that Squee already meant something to me. And he was right. In just a few emails and one phone call, Squee had become very important to me indeed.
It wasn't the moment he walked in, or even when our eyes first met. Nope, that audible 'click' that meant that everything had just fallen into place sounded when he first smiled at me. From that point on, I was his, and he was mine. Our first date was typical, dinner and a movie, but different somehow. After talking, we realized we had friends in common and had actually met once before as kids, though neither of us remembered much about it. When he drove me home, I asked if I could kiss him, out of concern that because he hadn't made a move in that direction and if a goodnight kiss didn't happen, I was afraid he would never call me again. He agreed with a sly grin, and our first kiss rounded out our first date.
That was in October of 2004. Now, in 2013, after 8 years together and rapidly approaching 7 years of marriage, I can still see that grin in my mind. I remember the moment I fell in love with him, the moment the world clicked into place and gained purpose. I remember it on the bad days, the days when PTSD gets her claws into him and doesn't let go, when he's grouchy or snippy or demanding, that there's another side to him. That the moodiness isn't his choice, he would much rather be happy and calm. I replay those moments to remind myself of precisely why I fell in love with Squee, to help bring focus on the days when the road to happiness seems unclear. So when I am confronted by someone who asks me how I can stay with Squee because of his PTSD, I reply that I stay with my Squee, the warrior that I see, the hero that I love, because he is more than just my husband. He's my partner, my best friend, the father of our three daughters (Siren, Banshee, and Echo), my other half, and my soulmate; I mean it with all my heart, because my Squee is my heart.
