He's gone now...

Her favorite place to nap
Originally uploaded by Bonnie_Williams

Well (~sigh~), this deployment has officially started.

He is already feeling the desert sun on his back and smelling odd, Middle Eastern smells when he breathes. And I don't mean odd smells like food or something... He is most likely in a large tent with hundreds of other Soldiers who haven't had a shower as frequently as they'd like. Also, they are all eating chow from a mess hall, OR even maybe MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat). Those MRE's are designed to last till Judgement Day, so you KNOW there is a ton of preservatives in those. Must smell great! :-)

We were expecting him to leave Friday last week. So I bought all the "last meals at home" food that has become tradition in our home. Favorite breakfast cereals, premium lunch meats, steaks for dinner... that sort of thing. I even made a cherry cheesecake from scratch. And it was a good thing I made the steaks on Wednesday night -- he left the next evening. Thursday had a large group of Soldiers leaving and Erick had some work to do to get that group ready. He was at work all day, the kids were at school and it was a normal day. I called him at 4 pm to see what time I should plan dinner (he was still at work). He said 6 pm, and also that he would be home soon. At 4:30 pm, he called back, saying, "Guess what, I am f@*%ing leaving tonight! We have to be at the quad by 6pm." Here is my account from that moment:

I try very hard to NOT throw up.

"Okay," I say, " I will tell the kids. I love you." I hang up the phone and feel some bile rising up in the back of my throat. I think of telling the kids right away, but I see them innocently watching cartoons, unaware of what is about to happen this night, and I can't tell them yet. I turn around a corner, away from their eyes and let a few tears fall. I do not allow myself the luxury of a full, drowning cry, there is no time for that, there is work to do. I think I have gathered my strength, but no. At the last second I feel more tears trying to form. I retreat into the bathroom and blink them away. I will visit those emotions later, but not until weeks from now. Our baby, Leah, is happily playing on her baby gym, cooing and gurgling on the floor in a pool of the late afternoon sun. I turn the TV off and call Joe and Lily over to me. "Guys, I have to tell you something, okay?" ~gulp~ "You know how daddy was going to have to leave tomorrow night?" They nod their heads --they have not figured it out yet. "Well, his plane is going to leave tonight instead and we will have to say goodbye soon."

Slowly their faces show the realization of what I just said. The tears silently begin to fall, their little faces breaking apart before my eyes. I open my arms to them and they both come into my embrace. With their faces buried in my neck, I allow myself a few more tears. I don't want them to see my cry though. I know if they should see that, any strength they may have will fly away. They need me to be an example of how to be strong. So I say, "Now, who is tired of crying?" They both say they are and I say that I am too. In that moment, they show me how amazing they both are by drying their tears and getting busy. Lily draws a picture for daddy, Joseph gets some cars in his room to play with later. The baby still is happily wiggling around on her gym.

When Erick gets home, he packs the last few things (actually a lot of last few things) in a half hour! He even had to pack some dirty clothes, as we had planned on doing his laundry that night. We get the kids packed into the car as well as coloring books and crayons, the diaper bag and stroller, and an assault pack ready to go to Iraq. Once we were at the quad, I saw that the large group hadn't left yet. I didn't yet know which group Erick would leave with. He was busy with last minute things and not able to be with us right away. So, I am in a field with about 250 people, Soldiers, their wives and children. All saying goodbye, crying, hugging, laughing. The kids are running around playing in the sprinklers while the mother's are urging them to stay dry.

You won't see stronger people anywhere. These families amaze me every time. I stand back and watch each goodbye scene. Some cry very hard, some reminisce and talk about happy memories, some are hopeful and talk of R&R. Some look shell shocked, some look like they will throw up soon, and most are holding on to each other for dear life. But -- they all make the same sacrifice. All those Soldiers climb onto that bus, all those families let go and say goodbye.

Amazing.

I felt so odd. My kids were off playing, the baby fell asleep in her stroller and I was quietly watching all my friends say goodbye to their husbands. I still didn't know when my husband would be leaving; with the big group or later. When the fateful blue buses drove up, my heart sank. Of course, you can hear the same heart sinking sound in the crowd. It makes me think what it must have been like on the Titanic and suddenly feeling the ship sinking. You have been told the ship will go down, but until you feel that heart-wrenching drop, your brain won't accept it. That is what the blue buses feel like. The certainty that they ARE leaving, that this is not a dream. I quickly took the kids over to where my husband was working (we had been trying to stay out of the way), just in case he WAS leaving with the big group. And wheeeeeeew! He was leaving a few hours later.

Once the giant mass of Soldiers had finally left, we could take a little time to be near each other. The kids had to be told to stay nearby, as they wanted to go run and play. I think they were trying to ignore reality a little bit. Erick and I gave those last few hours to our children, so they could each have time with daddy. Joseph, Lily and Leah. They each had hugs, kisses, and talks with Erick before he left. That was all there was time for. He and I held hands, hugged each other hard and kissed goodbye.

So Erick was on the bus at last and I was 10 yards away holding Leah. Joe and Lily were next to me waving goodbye with the panicky, frantic waving you do when you say goodbye to someone you love. Those buses; they ALWAYS sit for a few horrendous minutes. You can see your man, he can see you. The kids can see daddy, he can see the them. Hell, he can even call you on the cell phone and talk. But you are already separated by the window in the bus and it feels like it is 1000 feet thick. And then the bus drives away and he is gone. Just me and the kids left, so we make our way back to our van. As I have had to put the baby into her car seat, she starts to cry loudly. Joseph asks me if Leah is crying because she misses daddy. It breaks my heart to say "No buddy, she isn't even old enough to know he's gone".

I let Joe and Lily sleep in bed with me. For them as much as for me. We watch Ratatouille and eat popcorn in bed. I tell them they will feel a lot better in the morning. We pass out together and snuggle all night long. The next day the kids and I DO feel better. We take it slow, clean the place up and de-Erick-ify. His shoes were still out where he'd left them, and his laundry with his smell was still in our room. Everywhere we looked we were reminded of him being gone and that was too hard to deal with. Once the house was picked up, we were able to start getting on with life. There are still chores to do, homework and housework, and "You still have to be nice to your sister/brother!" :-).

Joe and Lily miss Erick as much as you can imagine, I do too. I bet baby Leah will notice her daddy is gone. The dog even misses him. But each day we deal a bit better than before. We are pretty strong here, and the kids continue to amaze me.

Some neighborhood kids come over with long faces. They tell me their daddy just left today and they are feeling sad. They ask if they can come inside to play. "Of course you can." I say. How can I resist? And upstairs I can hear the children talking about their feelings with each other, dealing with it and then, getting into playtime.

Amazing.