We’ve all seen the movie (only like fifty million times during his last trip). A chance encounter. A twist of fate. A stolen kiss. And they fall instantly, deeply, madly in love on the Carolina beaches beneath a breathtaking sunset. They spend two romantic,
He packs his crew bag, kisses you, his beautiful wife, goodbye and heads out for another long stint of excitement and adventure…by which, of course, I mean long hours, greasy fast food, ungrateful strangers, and lonely hotel rooms. Meanwhile, back at the ol’ home
Being a pilot wife is…well, unique. It’s feeling like you live two completely separate, unrelated lives – the one when your husband is home and the one when he’s not – and trying to find some kind of balance between the chaos of the
Time is to marriage as running water is to a mountain.
It doesn’t stop for anyone or anything and can slowly but surely, almost imperceptibly, chisel away at the tiniest cracks in the foundation until they widen and become insurmountable chasms. Over time, it can destroy the tallest mountain, create gaping canyons, and alter the landscape until it is virtually unrecognizable.
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