When I was 18 we were sitting in this park by Dh’s parent’s house. I was a couple months into my first year in college and Dh was leaving in the morning for St. Jean, Quebec where he would start Basic Training for the Canadian Army. The drama. Oh, friends, the drama of the 2 of us, me blubbering, sitting on the blanket at our makeshift picnic at the park, terrified to be without him, completely lacking in independence or maturity. A mess. I was a mess. There’s a picture, I can’t find it. That’s probably for the best. The next morning his parents dropped him off at the recruiting center and he took a bus to the airport and off he went. His mom had his room turned into a craft room before that plane landed. Without cellphones we racked up ludicrous collect call long distance bills. He made just over $500 paycheck. Most of it paid for the phone bill. Then he couldn’t use the phone and I thought that might be the worst thing that could ever, possibly happen. Ever. Oh. To be 18 again. When he left, it was no surprise. He’s the 5th generation in his family to enlist. He wanted to be a police officer he thought. That meant go to college or join the army to earn the life experience needed to apply, so he joined the army because he didn’t want to go back to school. 3 years. He signed that initial 3 year contract. He told me when it was up, he’s apply to the police and if he was still too young at 21, he’d sign another 3 years and…