It seems like ages since my previous post, and so many things have happened that I hardly know where to begin. Why such a delay in posting, you might ask? (And rightfully so!) The answer is simple: I do not yet have any real updates from Anthony. I am, for all intents and purposes, in the dark.
Other than the standard phone call (about thirty seconds in length) that Anthony was allowed upon arrival at the Great Lakes Training Facility, I have not received any news. That is not to say that I have not heard from him, per se. I have actually had precisely two communications from him since the call. Both communications were a source of joy and disappointment for me, though each in very different ways. Allow me to explain.
The first communication was a package I received of Anthony's personal effects. Recruits are not allowed to maintain possession of their civilian clothes or any other restricted items once they reach the training facility, so they are given the option of mailing their effects home or donating them to charity. Anthony had planned on donating his, so he had intentionally worn clothing he was ready to part with. I was surprised and delighted, therefore, to see a package arrive from him a week ago today. Though the package didn't include a letter, there was a scrap of paper with a little "love and miss you" note scribbled on it. I can't help thinking he decided to mail his effects home just so that he could send me that note. The disappointment: the address on the box was a generic address for the facility.... I still did not have an address to be able to write to him.
Lacking a proper mailing address for Anthony, I was thrilled to receive my first "letter" from him the very next day. Why the ominous quotation marks? Because it wasn't a proper letter. It was a form letter from the Navy to me thanking me for supporting my recruit and listing out some of the basic information generally considered useful to recruits' families. In all fairness, it was useful. It was, however, disappointing to receive that first letter and for it not to actually be a letter from Anthony at all. The joyful side was that I finally had an address for Anthony and was able to write to him. And it warmed my heart to see his handwriting in the fill-in-the-blank sections.
A few days after Anthony's departure, I experienced my first real growing experience. Before Anthony left, we spent weeks stocking up on a variety of goods from our local price club to which he has a membership and I do not. One of the items acquired was a forty-two ounce jar of strawberry jam. For those of you struggling to visualize the gargantuan proportions of a forty-two ounce jar, my grip didn't even reach halfway around its circumference. Thus, an epic battle ensued. Though the details are thrilling, I will spare you. Suffice it to say, it took me nearly twenty minutes to open that accursed jar. There were many times I wanted to give up, but my pride and my inconveniently particular appetite won out. Giving up simply wasn't an option. "It's now or five months from now," I told myself, rather dramatically. Five months without strawberry jam seemed unbearable. Waiting for the next time my brothers were around for a visit and asking them to open it for me seemed equally unbearable. Determination saved the day in the end.
I am just in the process of wrapping up a perfectly lovely and diverting vacation with my aunt in Colorado. I have high hopes of finding a real letter from Anthony waiting in my mailbox when I arrive home this evening. Rest assured, the desire for my next post to be all about Anthony (rather than all about me) is mutual.
XOXO from Erie
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