I took two-and-a-half hours to do my hair that morning. It had to be perfect. When my father walked into the room every half hour he'd just shake his head and laugh.

"It's just Erik," he said with a smile.

That day was different, though. It was a day I had been anticipating for more than 16 months. The day I dreamed about when I lay wide-eyed unable to sleep. My husband Erik was returning home from 16 months with the Army in Bosnia. I no longer had to worry about him or suffer from the incredible loneliness I often felt.

On our way to the base, my stomach turned. When we reached the entrance, I proudly displayed my military ID. "I'm here to pick up my husband," I told the guard, trying not to smile too big.

When Erik exited the plane I felt like a huge weight had been lifted. He waved at me and blew me a kiss. I waved back, flashing my pearly whites, which I had brushed twice that morning. For the first time in more than a year we were saying hello to each other without the use of technology.

Family members weren't allowed to embrace the soldiers just yet. The Army had to have a ceremony, and then the soldiers were to be released. Twenty minutes were added to the 16 months, as if I hadn't waited long enough.

Tears ran down my face when we finally embraced. "I missed you so much," I tried to say, amid a mess of tears and lost air. We had been married for a year and a half, but had been together only a month. Now it was over, we were no longer counting the days. We have the rest of our lives together.

2005 presented one of the most challenging experiences of my life. Erik had deployed to Bosnia just two weeks after our wedding ceremony in Norwalk, in Southern California. During that year I went through some of my biggest life events: I graduated college, I moved to Napa and began my career in journalism and celebrated our first wedding anniversary, all without my husband.

"I'll see you soon," he told me when I first dropped him off at the Army base.

Soon didn't come soon enough. During my last year at UCLA, I often found it hard to focus. I tried not to cry while listening to lectures about romance in Shakespeare.

Mail had become the highlight of my day. Every time I'd hear the mailman close the box I'd run out, frantically searching for a letter stamped "Military Postal Service."

I wanted my days to become shorter, I went to bed early and woke up late. I obsessively stared at the calendar, wishing the weeks were going faster.

Dreams became my best friend and worst enemy. In my dreams I had felt him, and was with him. I'd wake up incredibly disappointed -- not a perfect way to start a day. It is military tradition that three men inform the family that a soldier had died, a chaplain and two enlisted soldiers. Too often I had dreamed of those men at my door. "Mrs. Menjivar ..." I'd wake up in tears.

Erik often told me he was OK, "Don't worry about me," he said. He was in special operations, which means I couldn't know anything. In my mind I invented situations that horrified me. It was partly my fault, but I couldn't help it. Erik would try to help me by praying with me, reassuring me about his safety and speaking of our incredible future together. It helped, but I needed more.

I had to see a counselor to deal with the separation. Being a military bride is no easy life. The counseling helped, but the only cure was to have him with me.

How many times have I heard, "I don't know how you do it, Cristina." Truth is, I don't, either. But because of my experience I can now appreciate my husband's presence that much more. Coming home to him each day has never felt so good. Just by looking at him I feel so lucky. After seeing them off to war, many women never see their husbands again.

Although I have been a military wife for less than two years, I have been quickly introduced to its harsh reality. There are many women out there who share my experience and too often they are overlooked. We are the women who keep the household and soldiers together. We are their motivation. Many times Erik would relay to me how soldiers would constantly talk about their wives or girlfriends at home. Letters from their loved ones would be the highlight of the day. I was his drive, he said, and just thinking about me would help him get through his day.

Military wives are a special group. We face some of the cruelest realities and have to drive on. We have to go to work everyday, come home to an empty home and live off of memories and dreams of the future. We are strong, stoic and passionate. Just like our husbands, we are warriors.