His eyes were rimmed in violet.  It was as if all the blood in his body surged to these particular paper thin spots to hold back the emotions threatening to break him into pieces. The purpleness set off the pale blue of his eyes I was as familiar with as I was my own.

A short while before, Dan had been showering, mindlessly whistling the old southern tune, “Dixie,” from behind the curtain.  I had secretly planted myself halfway in the open bathroom door to soak up every available second of him as I could.

“Hey Lis?” he had shouted, thinking I was elsewhere in our compact military home.

I paused to a create the pretense that I hadn’t actually been hovering a few feet away.

“Yes, love?”  I had managed as brightly as possible, hoping to convince at least one of us my heart wasn’t squeezing in my throat.

“Could you mail my favorite magazines to me every month while I’m over there?” The “there” was a combat zone in Iraq. Again.

 “Of course.”  A laugh had released a mixture of my pent up emotions. “I won’t even blackmail you to write me letters before I send them.”  Dan’s letters always served as lifeline while I waited the long months until his return.

“Good.” His assurance had filled the small space between us.

Now that we were in bed sharing the quiet moment we always did before turning out the light, Dan’s light heartedness faltered.  He turned to face me, pulling me as close as he could, his demeanor growing as solemn as I had ever seen.  His eyes, quietly edged in that purple hue, searched mine and caught me off guard but not as much as when he spoke.

“I don’t want to go.”

His words sank through me like a pebble falling silently into an endless well. Dan had always been resigned when he had to leave, his strength a pillar for me to lean on throughout months of unknowns and worry. Tonight he could not hold back what he had never allowed himself to say. His duty, the mission, his Marines had always had to come before us. For the first time he didn’t want them to.

For as much as he made himself vulnerable in sharing this almost unspeakable truth, I inexplicably understood.  The depths of his revelation meant more than not wanting to deploy to a combat zone, to be away from comforts and predictability and safety.  It meant not wanting to leave me, to miss our intimacy, to be away from the part of his heart that was filled by me threatened to overwhelm him in a way he had never allowed.

He had not asked for it, but I knew for the first time I had to give Dan permission to be less strong than we both needed.

I held the intensity of his gaze and reassured him in the only way possible for two lovers who know each other so completely.

“I know.”

He closed his eyes and leaned into me for one last night of blessed rest.