Military Wedding Vows (2 Minutes)

The vows

Fabian, during your first deployment I started writing on the inside of the cabinet door above the sink. The title was "Things That Broke While You Were Gone." The garbage disposal. The porch step. The truck battery, twice. And my mood, the week your calls stopped for nine days and nobody could tell me why.

You came home on a Thursday, read the whole door, and fixed everything on it by Sunday except the last one. You fixed that one the minute you walked in.

Everyone here knows you as the guy who stands up straight and calls their dad sir. I know the guy who calls at three in the morning my time to describe a sunset, and then apologizes for waking me up.

There will be more time apart. Most of these promises are for the months you're gone.

I'll tell you the boring stuff. What the neighbor's dog dug up, what I had for dinner, what the mechanic said. You told me once that boring was what you missed most. I will start your truck every Sunday so the battery stops dying. I'm going to write real letters on paper, even when we can video call, because you keep them in the side pocket of your pack.

When you come home, I promise to wait a few days before I show you the door.

And the big one. I choose you knowing what this life asks. I won't need you to come back exactly the same. I only need you to come back, and I'll be standing where you can see me.

There's a new list on that door now. It says "Things We're Doing When You Get Home." It's longer.

Why it works: The cabinet door list is funny and a little sad at once, and the last item on it tells the room how hard the first deployment was without a speech about it. The promises are about ordinary things during the time apart, because that is what most of the time apart is made of. The new list at the end turns the same door toward the future.