It started with Myspace, when love stories were written in pixelated hearts and song playlists. She met him there in December 2006, a Marine stationed in Hawaii, while she had just finished her military service. They had grown up on the same street, passed each other a thousand unseen times, and didn’t meet until the internet intervened.
They fell for each other fast, like young hearts do when distance feels romantic instead of impossible. Messages turned into late-night calls. He invited her to Hawaii before his deployment to Iraq. She almost said no, thinking about how it could go wrong. But then she laughed, packed her courage, and got on a plane anyway. When she saw him at the airport, something inside her just knew. Ten days later, they were engaged. It sounds reckless, but it felt like fate was finally showing up right on time to her.
He deployed soon after. They wrote letters that took weeks to arrive but were worth every second of waiting. Halfway through, his cousin was killed in action. The loss shattered him. When he came home on emergency leave, she knew she couldn’t wait until December to marry him. She wanted to do it now, while life offered them both a chance. Some family members protested, upset about missing the wedding, but his grandmother grabbed her hand and told her to marry that boy and make him happy. So she did, small ceremony, a few loved ones, a promise made during heartbreak and war.
The years that followed were hard. Deployment after deployment changed him in ways neither of them could understand. PTSD crept in quietly, then started showing its teeth. He became withdrawn, jumpy, and angry at things that didn’t make sense. She tried to rationalize it, thinking he was just stressed, until the nightmares started. He would lash out in his sleep, and she’d wake up with bruises on her cheek, covering them with makeup the next morning, pretending everything was fine.
When he came home for good, it wasn’t really him anymore. Doctors called it PTSD and traumatic brain injury. To her, it felt like loving a stranger with her husband’s face. His memory slipped, his temper flared, and the man she once knew—the one who laughed easily and made big plans- seemed lost somewhere deep inside. Still, she stayed. Not because it was easy, but because she meant every word of that wedding vow. They fought for a family, too, struggling through infertility and the chaos of military schedules. Eventually, after endless appointments and heartbreak, she gave birth to their son. Later, a daughter. They were tiny miracles that reminded her love was still alive, even if it looked different now.
When his condition worsened, he was moved to the Wounded Warrior Battalion and medically retired. He didn’t take it well. The Marine Corps had been his purpose, his identity. Civilian life felt hollow. He missed the brotherhood, the structure, the sense of meaning that came with service. Depression took root, and she could see him slipping further away. She became his caregiver—literally. The VA made it official, though she had been doing it all along. He made sure to take his medications, drive him to appointments, and be patient when the memory lapses came. There were days she felt like his nurse instead of his wife, which broke her heart. There’s a strange ache in loving someone who isn’t the same person you fell for, but she learned to love who he became instead of mourning who he was.
Their children became their anchor. They bought a house in Ohio, near family and open skies. She used photography to cope with the chaos, turning pain into something beautiful. His grandparents, married for nearly seven decades, became their example, a living reminder that love isn’t about perfection but persistence. His grandmother’s words still echo in her mind: Make him happy. That advice has carried her through more sleepless nights and hard days than she can count.
One fall afternoon, she photographed his grandparents, capturing their wrinkled hands and soft laughter. The photos weren’t just pictures; they were lessons in endurance. Looking at them, she remembered why she married that boy all those years ago. Even when love is bruised, battle-worn, and changed beyond recognition, it’s still worth fighting for. Love isn’t always gentle. Sometimes, it’s stubborn. Sometimes, it’s tired. But for her, it’s still everything.
