And We're Back

The appearance of the "uniform" has an odd effect on a person. You see a police uniform, you immediately slow down. A fireman, you look for smoke, a soldier....your heart drops.

Got up early today, took my shower, got dressed and walked downstairs to see my husband in uniform sitting on the couch with 2 of our 3 children. He had gotten them up early, gotten them dressed and tried to spend the last few moments he had with them.

After everybody was ready to go, he picked up his backpack and we headed to the truck. That drive to the airport seemed to take forever, but flashby at the same time. He drove quietly, as I played with my cellphone. The giggling from the backseat reminds you of what they are sacrificing. The silence in the front seats was deafening. Only broken up by the occasional sigh, and generic conversation.

We arrive at the airport, check in, and head to the terminals. Luckily the family members are allowed to wait with the soldier until boarding. I can remember a time, not long ago, when we weren't allowed that opportunity. The kids occupy themselves by watching airplanes, singing silly songs and pestering other soldiers awaiting their flights.

Finally, after about 2 hours they make the boarding call, and reality sets in. My husband gives his final goodbyes and goes to stand in line. You look at the line and see not one, not two, but more than a dozen soldiers standing in line to board the same flight. The numbers themselves are disheartening.

My two youngest are calm. They've occupied themselves with the airplanes and countdowns to Christmas. My son uses it as a marker for when Daddy will be back. How many days til Christmas mommy? So how many days after Santa will daddy be home?
My oldest however took it pretty hard. She's just old enough to really start to understand why daddy is gone. She understands his purpose for leaving, but that doesn't make the pain go away. She cries, and makes a run for the boarding line for one last hug. We wait for a few minutes and his line to board seems to be in slow motion. So the kids get antsy, and they all want daddy. Why is he just standing there? Can we give him another hug? I finally agree to sneak them over for one last goodbye.

The most touching part of the farewell, wasn't the soldier holding back tears. Wasn't the children who weren't fully aware of the surroundings, and it wasn't even the heartbroken little girl. But it was a stranger. An older woman, sitting alone watching the situation unfold. I'm walking away from my husband, trying to usher my 3 children back to the window to see the planes, and I see her. Fighting back tears of her own. She looks at them, looks at me and just whispers a simple "I'm so sorry" while large tears stream down her cheek.

Its funny, I hear things like "I feel so bad for you", "tell your husband thank you", and "I don't know how you do it", but nothing matches that statement. I don't believe she has any reason to be sorry. I don't think I deserve to hear her say she is sorry. But for the FIRST time ever, it seemed someone outside my boat was able to feel my pain. Finally, somebody gets it. I walked on, continued my attempts at lighthearted conversation until the plane disappeared, and we left the airport.

My children, dried their tears and being the little soldiers they are, returned to school. I went to the commissary, made dinner and put them to bed. Nearly 12 hours later, I close my door, breathe deeply, and shed a tear. Odds are, it will be one of very few tears I shed. Not because I don't want to cry, but because we aren't afforded the luxury.

Tomorrow morning, I will rise, get the kids ready for school and we will soldier on.