Dogtags...

One of the greatest weaknesses I have, especially in relationships, is a craving for security. It manifests itself in a demanding need for something physical to have. Don’t get me wrong, I know that a sparkly diamond, a brand new purse, an old shirt of his to sleep in does not truly mean anything. But it’s a near obsession for me to have something physical to have, wear, hold…

When he came home from Germany, and set his bags down in my room, I pretty much told him I was stealing a pt shirt, and he laughingly gave me one. (Funny story, “my” shirt actually belonged to his roommate in Germany, they got shirts mixed up.) When Christmas rolled around, I admit, I dreamed of jewelry, a Dooney & Bourke purse, the typical girly stuff, but what I really wanted, and the only thing I specifically asked for, was his dog tags.

On my first trip out here to the giant swamp that is Savannah, driving back from the airport I was tired, half nauseous from the plane ride, and as nervous as a whore in church. But the minute he lifted my set of tags from the dashboard, I knew what they were, the jingling they made was a sound I’d heard before, I recognized the curves of the tags, even his last name, as it’s etched on the metal. (That’ll be my last name here soon.) And suddenly, my nerves, tiredness, and nausea faded. It was real. We were real. I had something to cling to, during the darkest hours of the night, when I cannot sleep. Finally, finally, after months of long distance, after phone calls and emails and instant messages, I had something substantial. For all those girls that sported some piece of jewelry that their boyfriends had picked out, I had something better; I had proof that my boyfriend could kick the snot out of their boyfriend, any day of the week.

But those two pieces of metal, with his information stamped into them, stand for something. They stand for a man that as much as I love him, I respect him. He is one of the few men in life that I look up to, that I admire, and his dog tags are a physical manifestation of that… they’re a reminder that he is one of the few in this life, to be a soldier. Those tags represent all the time he has spent, the sacrifices he has made, the training he has had, the bravery he has.

Every jingle they make, as I walk around during the day, when they slide under my shirt and are freezing cold against me, when I curl the chain around my hand, and run my fingers over his name, remind me of what I have. The gift I have been given, the warrior that fights for his ideals, the man that makes me laugh, roll my eyes in frustration, makes me cry, drives me crazy some days, that's mine, he belongs to me as much as I belong to him.

I guess the saying is true… a real Army girl would rather have dog tags than diamonds.

~Jennifer