Hours to go

He sleeps in a cocoon of little girls. This is a pre-deployment ritual. It makes me sick to think that we have done this so many times there is actual routine to it. We have only a couple of hours until he leaves for the airport. There is something eerily familiar between these last few hours of time we share and those awaiting execution. You can’t help but acknowledge the clock every few minutes trying to make every last second count. And how do you do that? How do you try to put into a few minutes what you will miss in a year? I don’t know. We rocked the band tonight (i.e. Band Hero – a favorite family activity), got take-out from our favorite pizza place, watched a movie, ate candy (a rare treat) and danced in the living room to music so loud the neighbors are surely hating us. No matter, it will be a while before we hold such a shindig again.

We had an early birthday party for Daddy tonight as well. We picked up an ice cream cake and wrapped presents that should have waited another two weeks. We laminated wallet sized photos for Daddy to take with him, and signed a birthday card with a farting English bulldog on the cover. Daddy was hoping for a real puppy this year but I am now glad that I never made any follow up phone calls that would have left me with three girls and a daily yucky jowl routine.

The night has ended with a campout in the living room in front of the crackling fireplace. Each of us talked about how we are feeling about Daddy leaving. We are sad. The 4 year old, 6 year old and I were talking about this while Daddy played a game of sudoku in the other room with our nine year old. When the 4 year old heard them coming she goes, “shhhh we shouldn’t talk about this anymore cause it will make Daddy sad.” How sweet a daughter we have to think about how Daddy must be feeling. And Daddy is sad, sadder to go than I have ever seen him. We talk about what we want to do when Daddy gets back. Always looking forward – always – if you stand still and analyze where you are at for too long the sadness will eat you alive. Should Daddy get a job where he doesn’t have to do away? Where should we live? The 6 year old shouts, “California!” The 4 year old yells, “China!” When asked I explain that it doesn’t matter to Mommy where we live – home is wherever my family is.

We have four hours until his ride comes and I cannot sleep. I am a chronic insomniac so this is nothing new, only tonight is different. The pit in my stomach will only be relieved by his going and knowing that we will finally be counting down the days until he comes back. The waiting truly is the hardest part. Who warned us about that? Was it Tom Petty? What a strange and wise man. I like to tangent off to humor and sarcasm when things get to heavy. If I’m not careful my train will derail entirely. I don’t know if I can go back out there. Mr. Petty, that is the hardest part. To see him sleeping with his three little girls trying to breath them in enough to hold their scents, their smiles, their love to sustain himself for a year away from them. In the morning it will be a dream. I will look at the spot where they now lay and it will once again be a dance floor, a gymnasium, an orca training facility, a boring everyday living room. Tonight it is a shrine. Please let the countdown begin. The waiting is killing me. It’s like a tug of war you know you’re predestined to lose. You just want to let go before you suffer any more rope burns. I’m letting go so let’s get going. 365 – or until the Army says so – to go.