The Invisible Man

It's raining.

Illinois has tried very hard the past few weeks to reflect with its weather what my mind looks like inside. Dark, cold, gray, gloomy, rainy, and given to sudden mood changes.

How can I describe what this feels like?

I'm sorry if I'm not completely happy. I'm sorry I can't put my phone away. I'm sorry if I seem slightly distracted.

It's been three weeks since my earthly Eden ended. I am banished for a time.

I long to be somewhere where he is real—where people have known him for years and love him and miss him. Here, he is invisible. He hardly existed in this world. He was just Gwen's invisible boyfriend. Now he happens to be her invisible husband.

It seems he is invisible to everyone but me. I see him everywhere. On every motorcycle, at every church service, on every car ride. He is being tickled by my sisters in the basement, washing dishes in the kitchen, taking his ice skates off for the umpteenth time on the deck, holding me in the living room. There are the seashells he sent me from Okinawa, this is the computer he bought me, there are the flowers he had delivered for Valentine's Day, there are a pair of his combat boots just waiting to be worn again. In my closet is his backpack with the last set of civilian clothes he ever wore. And in my head are the memories.

The memories of such extreme happiness. To love and be loved in return. To marry the man I'd prayed for before I met. To be held in his arms as I fell asleep. To scour the beach for seashells. To play silly games and flirt and laugh. To go shopping and unload groceries and do laundry and dishes—the things normal people get to do.

And the other memories.

The cold night. The rushing Marines and the yelling staff NCO's. The diesel of the trucks and the rumble of the buses. The quiet tears that no one could shed. The inability to properly hug because weapons were in the way. The shadows. The children who did not understand that daddy was going away for a very long time. The Marines who had no one to say goodbye to. The low, pale clouds. The formation, the ordering, the loneliness, the last kiss, the only wave. Taillights.

And then silence. Going to bed alone. Waking up alone. Going to bed alone. Waking up alone.

Fighting the desire to sleep seven months away.

I see him everywhere. I am reminded of him everywhere. He is not invisible.

He is not someone I made up. I asked myself that once at 2 am when I woke up without him. “Was our month together real? Could something so good really happen to me?” Thank God for those rings he put on my finger to prove to me he exists.

I did not give him up for Lent. I gave him up for America for seven months instead.

I waved goodbye to him every morning that he left for work, no matter what time or how warm and comfy I'd been in bed because I knew that too soon I would be unable to do any such thing.

I wonder what it's like to get married and get used to the one you love, to see him every day, to give no thought to the fact that he might be taken away.

In some other part of the world it is morning now. Somewhere, in a place I cannot imagine, life goes on, and it goes on without me. It goes quickly for him, and it crawls for me.

It is so sad that we look forward to being able to see each other on computer screens. It is so sad that three weeks have gone by, and I've heard his voice twice—once for 34 minutes and once for 20. It is not enough. It is never enough. It's so sad that smelling his sweater makes me think he could be next to me.

And how can I get them to understand? How could a generation of instant gratification ever grasp what this feels like? To have half your heart ripped out of your chest. To let them take your sunshine away. To surrender to the will of the Marine Corps. To give up your lover to another. To only wish you could be there to make him happy, make him smile, make him feel—to love him.

Jealousy wraps its talons around my throat and asks me why I'm not like them. "You knew it would be like this," it whispers. Yes, but knowing it would be like this does nothing to lessen the pain. And it does nothing to lessen our love, for I love him, and I will never stop loving him.

My heart denies everything my mind screams. It cannot accept the truth.

But my heart can't keep him invisible much longer.