Chapter 6
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At the end of another long shift, the last thing I wanted was to walk around the neighborhood with an over-active boxer, but I
did it anyway. After all, he was technically my dog, and it’s not like Sara had never run with the boy when she was tired, or
complained very much when Hank would jump on her to get her to pay attention to him. Sacrifices had to be made when you
were responsible for another living being.

When Hank and I came in through the back door, he calmly walked over to his bed and plopped down. Apparently I wasn’t the
only one merely doing my duty with those walks.

I made his food, put it and some fresh water down on the kitchen floor, and tidied up.  Standing there with my hands propped
on the counter, I could only stare off into space for a little while. I was still thinking about the email Sara had sent me; the email
that was still up on the computer screen on my desk, the email I had yet to write a reply for.

Eventually, Hank found a little bit of an appetite and ambled over to the food dish, and I was finally broken from my stupor. I
realized that since we had come in through the back door, the mail still needed to be retrieved.

I wasn’t expecting anything beyond the normal round of bills, the Academy of American Forensics Journal that should be
delivered sometime soon, and the now familiar plethora of catalogs. It would seem that ordering things on the internet means
that you want to receive ridiculous amounts of junk mail and catalogs.

As I flipped through the mail I fumbled with the catalog showcasing the newest fashions in the world of industrial coveralls and
sent several pieces of mail skittering across the floor. I was still crouched down on the floor trying to retrieve the fallen items
when Hank decided to investigate the situation.

He sniffed around a little until his attention seemed to become focused on the floor beneath the entry table. I felt around and
came across a card.

When I lifted it into my sight, I was not prepared for what I saw. It bore the words, “Shipyard, People, Technology” and it carried
the images of a row of naval vessels, a radar screen and a U.S. Navy honor guard. My first thought was that someone was
seriously mistaken in trying to send a recruitment flyer to this house, but when I flipped it over and saw Sara’s familiar
handwriting I scrambled awkwardly to my feet and went in search of my glasses.
I was having trouble understanding this new information, because it just seemed so out of character for Sara to make such a
rash decision. In a day’s time she had gone from Boston, to D.C., to Norfolk, VA, and then on to Italy. It was hard to fathom,
and it was even harder to take. She was getting farther and farther away.

I sat down at the desk and tried to put to words all of the things that were swirling around in my mind.
PREVIOUS
NEXT
Sara,

I want to be happy for you, and I want to support you in this journey you are undertaking. I want these things, because you
want them. But the truth is that I also want you to come home, to be here, to be safe and to never be far from my grasp. How
am I to reconcile these two halves of my heart? What am I say to you when you tell me of your search?

Everyday, I ache to see you, to hold you, to breathe in your scent as we wake for the day. I do understand that you need to do
these things, but I also know that I am fighting to hold onto myself with every passing day. This trial in our lives has taught me
one undeniable fact; I desperately need you in my life, Sara.

Please come h
Before I could write anymore, I stopped myself. Reading those last words, I was overcome with a deep sense of shame. I
choked back the emotion firmly lodged in my throat and placed my index finger over the backspace key as I shut my eyes
against the painful truth of those words.

When I opened them, the field was once again blank, and I switched off the monitor. Another day to think about my response
was probably the best course of action.

My sleep, if you could call it that, was filled with a thousand different emailed responses, and the various actions I envisioned
resulting from them. I was horrified by the selfish streak I seemed to have developed when it came to Sara. So concerned with
my own predicament, I was willing to allow her to live in the pain and misery of her emotional identity crisis, simply to keep her
at my side and dependent upon my perceptions of her worth; that would have been my greatest sin, and my biggest mistake.

Thank the heavens I was able to restrain myself from completing the selfish, self serving and desperately pleading email that
broke from my control before. That email would have done far more damage than any other thing I could have done to her,
and I owe Sara so much more than that.

In the end, it all boiled down to one thing; this has nothing to do with me. This is about Sara needing to find herself, to find her
own terra firma, to know who and what she is, and possibly to understand a little of how and why she got there.

I went back to the computer and flipped on the monitor as I sat down to finally write that email.
RE: Not Much Here

From: ggrissom1956@memail.con
Thu. 2007-12-20 18:38
To: ss1971@memail.con


Sara,

Your kiss is the first thing on my mind when I wake, and every time I close my eyes; never apologize for that kiss. That kiss is
what keeps me going, even in my darkest hours. That kiss is one of the many reasons I am willing to support you on this
journey, because I long for the day when you return, and I can have those kisses again.

I hope that you find what you are looking for with your brother. I have always refrained from asking about him, because the few
times you spoke of him I could sense the overwhelming pain in your words. Perhaps he can reassure your mind and your
memories. It is my sincerest wish that you find him, and the answers you seek. However, even if you fail to find a single answer,
know that you will always have a place in my heart, and in my arms.

I found your shirt, and in finding it, I was transported to the last time you wore it. Vividly, in my mind’s eye, I could see the way
your untamed curls rested on your shoulder, the unraveled seam just below your hair, and the freckles which peeked out
between the strands. I also remembered how it was that I came to find it wedged between the mattress and headboard, which
is, as I recall, entirely my fault.

However, I cannot guarantee its condition when you return, as it is most likely to smell very much like old man and bad dog,
since Hank and I are spending most nights fighting over who gets to sleep next to it. We also regret to inform you that, upon
your return, certain obedience training may need to be repeated, as I am currently sharing sleeping accommodations with a
certain canine companion. And as a side note, he is the bed hog in this scenario, so I believe it could be considered
obedience training for me, instead of a lapse in Hank’s.

Outside of the sleeping arrangements, Hank and I are doing well, though we both miss you horribly. We go for long walks
every chance we get, and we’ve both managed to lose a little weight. The only thing missing from our lives is you. We both
look forward to the day when you return to us.

I love you, Sara. More now than ever before, because I know the strength it required for you to embark on this journey.
Though I regret we could not do it together, I do not regret your actions. I only wish for the speedy and satisfying completion of
your quest for self-discovery. And whomever you turn out to be, know that I will be here, waiting for you to return, just as you
waited so long for me to find myself. I love you, Sara, whoever you are.

Loving You, Always,

Gil