"I’ve missed you so much babe."

My boyfriend’s voice is soft, so I can barely hear the Midwestern accent that has become the sweetest sound I know.

A smile is playing at his lips as he reaches for me. I pull him close for what I hope to be the longest, sexiest kiss imaginable.

"Sweetie, when was the last time you shaved?"

His face is fuzzy as my cheek brushes his. Very fuzzy. Too fuzzy.

At this point, I would wake from my dream with my face pressed against the soft white fur of my Valentine’s teddy bear as the inevitable feeling of emptiness set in. I would stretch my arm across the bed to touch his chest, even though I knew he was far beyond my fingertips – then clutch my bear as the early morning tears spilled down my cheeks.

This is why I have taken a hiatus from writing.

Nothing I can compose on relationship dos and don’ts, no sassy prose on life in Hoboken has seemed to matter anymore. How can I pretend as though I care about beach houses and tailgating on a horse farm when I no longer recognize a world that used to include such things?

For the last 11 months, I have battled the ups and downs of my boyfriend’s deployment to Iraq with the US Army. It has forever changed my perspective on life and love, on what is worth living for… and what is worth dying for.

And now it draws to a close.

My soldier is coming home from Baghdad this week – and that same life and love we have shared begins anew.

A peace has settled over me that I cannot express in words. No more worry racking my body. No more anxiety over where he is and if he is safe. No more crying myself to sleep because I miss him so. No more terrible phone connections (when he was even able to get to a phone), insane schedules, eight hour time difference, 6000-mile distance. No more roadside bombs and dangerous missions and unbearable desert heat.

No more icy fingers of dread winding their way around my heart when I hear a soldier was killed in Iraq.

It’s over. It’s finally over.

There is nothing I will miss about the experience of having my boyfriend in a war. But I realized a long time ago it was up to me to take the most out of this as possible. I could allow myself to constantly ache inside. Or I could try to learn something new about the world around me, about the strength I possess, about the love in my heart.

To that end, I actually owe a great deal to Operation Iraqi Freedom.

It has shown me strength

I am sentimental, and I am a crier. I sob at movies, commercials, songs… you name it. On Sunday I wept because a little baby I was cooing at in church reached her arms out to me.

Anything meant to evoke even the slightest emotion will start the water works. So what happens to someone like me when her boyfriend goes to war?

I cried. I cried until there were no tears left – and then I cried some more.

But I held on to my love, and I kept going.

Being strong is more than simply having forward momentum, though. To me, the difference between strength and survival is perspective. It is understanding why we are where we are.

In this life, we are never without options. We can meet challenges, we can put our hearts on the line, we can accept that there are no guarantees. We can stand beside those we love. Or we can stand on the sidelines.

This is what I signed up for. I chose Brian full knowing he would be in Iraq. So I chose all that came with that, no matter the cost.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

It has shown me priority

Ahh, the meaning of life and what is important. For me, I found out it’s really pretty simple:

Family. The one you get and the one you choose.

I didn't always know how to handle being apart from Brian under these circumstances – and the person I needed to lean on most was the one so far away. So I turned to my family, and they were my unyielding support system.

The family I was given was there for me out of unconditional love. Even when they didn’t know what to say, they listened, they hugged, they prayed. They held me up.

It was everything I needed.

The family I have chosen is the small but incredible group of close friends that have touched my soul in such a way that I will never be the same. They chose to stand by me, to dry my tears, to hold my hand.

I have really learned what family means to me, and what it means to Brian. Neither of us could go through life together without the same value placed on the people that have seen us through life so far.

It has shown me what it means to be an American

My boyfriend and his soldiers amaze me in the way they would die for one another. No matter how tough the conditions they must endure, how much they miss everyone back home, how they long for the simple things we take for granted – they accept their mission. And they never stray from it because, if they do, another soldier’s life is at risk.

This is the place for America’s leaders.

Our soldiers all have so much to live for – and so much to die for. They accept that and move on. I have always been proud of my country, proud of its military. Never like this. Never until I saw it living and breathing before my eyes.

It has shown me love

No matter how many times I didn’t think I could take anymore, I never let go of the belief that I had found my soul mate and it would take more than a war to keep us apart.

Love for Brian was sacrificing time with his daughter – the absolute light of his life –during his only leave so he could spend time with me. Nothing could have showed me more that he treasured me and my place in his life.

Love for me was holding on, digging deep, and in my own small way helping my soldier to forget, even for a moment, where he was. More importantly, it was at every moment appreciating all I had found in him.

The only assurance we have truly been able to grasp on to is this great thing we have found in each other.  It is all that we have shared, and all that’s to come.

It is stronger than ever because of this war and, somehow, it is always enough.

My heart and soul have an imprint of Iraq that will never be far from my consciousness. There is no way I could live this, watch Brian live it, and not come out a changed person.

I will never forget the highs and the lows of this past year. Never take for granted one minute with Brian when we are finally together again. Never forget those whose love and support carried me through.

And I will never forget those whose deployment is just beginning, and the ones they are leaving behind.

In the end, Operation Iraqi Freedom has shown me depths of myself and the love in my heart that I never knew existed.

For that, I am thankful.

If I had to do it all over again, there is no doubt in my mind that I would. This has been the hardest year of my life – but it reaps the most precious reward I could have asked for. It has given me Brian.

For that, I am blessed.

And so I end this, in more ways than one, on a personal note to my soldier, who I know will be reading at some point once he’s back:

I love you more than words can say (and for me to be at a loss for words is staggering.) Thank you for the fight, for being everything to everyone who loves you, and for making us all so proud.

The future is ours, Brian, and we have only just begun.

Welcome home soldier!