On days like today, it’s hard being all the way across the country from my sister.

I hate knowing she’s sad, emotional, and scared. I hate thinking that maybe she’s curled up on the couch trying not to think, because thinking means remembering and remembering means feeling, and what she’s feeling is pain. I feel powerless when I’m too far away to hug her and play with her long curly hair and throw in a frivolous movie and reassure her that all the people she cares about will stay safe.

One of them might be in danger. Her ex-boyfriend and current best friend, John – this is a pseudonym – has been one of the steadiest, most supportive, and most important influences in her life. He’s been a rock at times when everything felt fluid; a constant in the face of unrelenting flux; a positive when all the negatives engulfed her.

John is brilliant. John is kind. John is funny. He’s the one you want out there working to protect us. He’s as solid as it gets.

Maybe too solid. Because he’s so smart, because he’s so valuable, because he’s so trusted, John’s been handpicked to go overseas. Somewhere volatile. That’s the peril of being good at your job: You get requested by name, and you can’t turn down a compliment that high.

He’s not sure what to expect, but he knows the worst part will be getting there – or leaving -- without being targeted. He’s got a dress code to follow. He’s got guards. And he’s got to hope: have faith that the people protecting him know what they’re doing, and get him through this so he can come home alive and safe. He’s got to get used to his scary surroundings without descending into careless complacency about them.

All this -- the prospect of protection, his common sense and intelligence, the forced joviality -- doesn’t change that my sister’s having a hard time saying goodbye. When John’s fears finally surfaced, so did her tears. She’s scared that his fate rests in such uncertain hands, and she’s struggling to remain proud and strong and calm for his sake, because a big part of her probably wants to question a lot of it. No one wants to rewrite this to be about anyone but John, so I know she feels selfish for wanting to wallow and cry at the idea of it when he’s the one who has to live its reality. But she’s not selfish; she’s human, and she cares, and it’s impossible not to feel weak when someone you love in any capacity grapples with something this potentially dangerous. When a compliment and the opportunity of a lifetime become monstrous images you see behind closed lids. Especially when he’s signing his power of attorney over to her, drawing up a will, getting all other affairs in order, and generally enveloping himself in morbidity as he readies for one of the roughest assignments of his career.

He’s accomplished so much. He’s comforted me just by being present where he is, doing what he does, yet he’s got so much real good left to do. He is truly one of our assets. He’s become close with the family as well as to Julie, and it hurts us all that he’s leaving for parts unimaginable.

Mostly, though, this is Julie’s pain. She’s surrounded by friends, and I’m thankful they’re there to cushion her, but I wish I could be there to stand up next to her and let her lean.

Someone got here by searching for: "im hideous" How was the weekend? Fine, thank you.Watching: Rough cuts of the first and last acts of my episode. Thinking: That our premiere date is looming awfully, frighteningly large.