Today is Veteran’s Day. And your 33rd birthday. I guess there was no way to avoid thinking about you today.

But the truth is, I think about you a lot.

I think about you every time I update this blog. Every time there’s a story in the news about a soldier that was killed; or about local soldiers being deployed, or coming home. I think about you every time someone at the gym is wearing an Army PT shirt, or the mini-van in front of me has a military sticker on the bumper. Every time the guy at the next table in my favorite sushi restaurant is wearing BDUs.

You can probably guess some of the thoughts: I’m hurt; I’m angry; I’m confused. Although I no longer wish we were married, I do wish I understood why we’re not.

But today, I want you to know about the thoughts that will surprise you. Because mostly when I think about you, I think: Thank you. It’s true that you broke my heart, but no one has ever – or will ever – be prouder of you than I was. No one will ever be more impressed by the sacrifices you made – or more aware of them.

I’m happy now. I’ve moved on with my life, just as you knew I would. You always knew I would be strong enough to be without you. And you were right. The Deployment gave me that strength, even as it took you away.

Sometimes I still I wonder if – somewhere out ther – you are once again the man I married. I wonder if it’s possible that you’ve put the deployment behind you; that you’ve healed; that you are happy, too. I hope so. Because as much as you believed in my strength, I believed in your vulnerability. The man I married was strong, yes, but he was sensitive and compassionate, too. He was thoughtful and deliberate. He was nothing like the guy that came home – but I still remember him.

I remember the day we met in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, when you rode in the back of the pick-up truck because you afraid you would say something stupid in front of me if we rode together. You cut your hand smashing the window to a house where there were animals trapped inside and then tried to hide the blood. I ratted you out to the team leader so she could bandage it. (I always have been a stickler for the rules.)

I remember the day I flew to Oregon to interview for the job that would allow me to move close to you. They lost my luggage and I ran around town all weekend in a hunter green wool pantsuit while you tried not to be embarrassed. We both knew I might never fit in on the west coast, but somehow I hoped it would become part of my charm.

I remember when we bought the farmhouse – I was unimpressed, but you saw “potential.” We lived in your grandparent’s RV in the driveway for 6 months while we renovated. When we finally moved inside, we slept on a mattress on the floor and used the quality queen sheet set that we dragged from room to room as we cleaned and painted and refinished. Even now I smile at the millions of imperfections put in place by our ‘do-it-ourselves’ attitude.

I remember the day you left for Afghanistan, when I stood in the armory bleachers and watched you in formation, trying to swallow through a lump of fear and pride in my throat. I pretended to be braver than I was, knowing that’s what you would have wanted.

And I remember the day you came home, when I launched myself into your arms at the airport, crying tears of relief and joy and gratitude. (I didn’t know yet that though the separation ends, sometimes the deployment can alter you permanently.)

I remember 4 years of marriage, that was mostly good. And I remember the year of deployment – beyond our control – that ended it.

So, on Veteran’s Day, I just wanted to say: Thank you. Thank you for being so brave. Thank you for doing – without hesitation – what so many of us will never have to do. Thank you for being someone who has dedicated himself to defending us, and for paying a tremendous price to do so.

After all that has happened between us, when I think about you… THAT’s the guy I remember. Even after everything we’ve been through, that’s the guy you will always be to me. And I hope today, on your birthday, you will take a few minutes to remember him, too.