The day of the deployment

I've been meaning to get this post out, and today is the first day I've had a chance. Tuesday will mark a week since K left. I think I'm handling it really well, but it still feels like it's been much longer than a week that he's been gone.

We woke up early that Tuesday morning. Even with all the craziness of the week leading up to that day, we still had errands to run. K had to be on post early that day, and we spent over an hour in his office as he tried to get the last few things from the deployment packing list into his bags. Tons of guys in his battery kept coming in and commenting on the things he'd packed and what he'd packed them in ("I didn't think about doing that." "Oh, you decided on that bag? That's a good idea." "Could you get all your stuff in the [insert bag name here]? Yeah, I couldn't either. I had to put mine in my [insert other bag name here].").

We left his office around 9 so K could have his picture taken. He's up for his first look at a promot!on to m@jor while he's in Iraq (There are 3 looks. Evidently it's really hard to get it on your first look, but you want to be ready just in case.). K's second look comes sometime around when he gets back, so he needed to get a photo made in a specific uniform (They have three.) before he left so it would be one less thing to worry about later (Plus, somebody's gotta get it on the first look! K is pretty much a poster boy for the A.rmy -- he even still folds his shirts like they were taught in basic training! -- so I can't imagine who would get it if it isn't him.).

Literally while K was getting his photo made, his phone rang with more work drama. After K was finished with the pictures, we headed straight back to his office so he could do a bit more work and finish up a few final things before he left.

Before I knew it, it was 10:40, which was when K was supposed to start taking his things to the gym, where they were leaving from. He and a couple of the guys made the first trip with K's equipment, and they came back to his office to get the rest. Shortly after 11, we all headed over again for the last time. We stood in a group talking until someone called for everyone to get in a casual formation in the amphitheater to make sure everyone was there.















Those of us who were friends and family members, which included soldiers who weren't leaving that day, stood around watching. I thought the soldiers would be dismissed from the amphitheater, but after several minutes, K came to where I was standing with a few of his friends and had us join him in the amphitheater.




















We sat down on the concrete ledge and waited for them to be called to the buses. Piper was with us, so all these kids kept coming up to try to play with her. Since she's spent so little time around them, she's not used to kids and winds up barking at them most of the time. That was a bit frustrating, since the kids definitely did not get the hint. Also, I didn't want to be distracted from those precious few final minutes I have with my husband for the next 15 months by interruptions from kids wanting to play with our dog. I understood their curiosity, and I guess it was my fault for bringing her, but I really had no choice -- K's apartment was his no longer, and I couldn't very well leave Piper in my car for two hours (I had actually thought about it, but it was too warm. And it's just not nice!).

We sat in the amphitheater for a while -- about an hour. K remembered we hadn't gotten a chance to call some friends of ours we said we'd call that weekend. They were both at work, so he called each of them separately and talked to them for just a couple minutes each. After he hung up with them, he called his dad. While he was on the phone, a man at the bottom of the amphitheater yelled out, "It's time!" and waved everyone toward the buses.

I looked around us, and people who hadn't been crying just five seconds earlier were bawling as if on cue. Children had started screaming and wailing, and people everywhere were hugging, trying to get in as much time as they could before the soldiers had to leave. Several of the soldiers were already heading toward the buses.

K was still on the phone with his dad, who I could tell had passed the phone off to K's brother. I could hear K answering the same unimportant questions he'd just answered with his dad -- the very same questions K had answered when we'd seen them that weekend ("Where are you flying out of?" "Where are you flying to?" The second question was especially annoying because K didn't know the answer and probably wouldn't know until they got to the airport.).

As I watched everyone wiping away tears with Kleenex; saw them hanging onto their soldiers for those final moments for many, many months; heard the children crying and screaming, "Daddy!"; and watched the many who already headed toward the buses, I began to feel very indignant and frustrated that K was stuck on the phone answering such questions.

I wanted to scream and start bawling at the same time. I wanted to jump up and down and tell him to GET. OFF. THE. PHONE! I wished for a cord that I could yank out of an invisible wall to disconnect the conversation. I thought about grabbing the phone from his hand and hanging it up. I knew all those feelings were due to the fact we had so little time, and it was being taken from me.

I moved directly in K's line of sight and said to him very insistently, "Hi. I'm here." My eyes were welling up with tears with everything that was going on around us, my frustration at his family for keeping him on the phone, and the knowledge that we were about to say goodbye for such a long time.

He abruptly got off the phone. All my emotions had rushed into my chest and gotten caught in a giant lump in my throat. An involuntary, sudden deep breath produced a sobbing sound I hoped K hadn't heard in his movement to hug me. I wanted to be strong for him. If I took his leaving too hard, it would make things more difficult for him. It would give him that much more to worry about with his leaving, and maybe even more to worry about while he's in Iraq. The last thing I want to do is cause him to concentrate less on his job there. If he's distracted, he's not safe.

We held each other for a time that went way too quickly. He said in my ear, "It's like you told C@thy yesterday: Now you can start the good countdown -- the countdown to R&R. We'll get to go on a nice vacation. It'll be awesome. It'll be here before you know it." (C@thy is his roommate's fiance. His roommate had left the day before.)

Almost everyone was heading toward the buses by then, so K had to gather his things and follow them. I lost him in the sea of uniforms, but I thought our time for goodbye had passed. I walked through a line of soldiers waiting to go through a building before they loaded the buses. Families were waiting next to the soldiers as they stood in line. I turned to look for K so I could stand with him, but it was impossible to find him -- too many people were in the exact same uniform.

I went to the back of the line and followed it forward to see if I could spot him. When I didn't see him, I decided to just wait by the buses and hope I could find him there. The trouble was, I didn't know which bus he'd be on.

As I was trying to decide where I could stand and have the best odds of seeing him, I passed one of our friend's wives. She was wearing sunglasses, but I could see she was crying. Without saying a word, we stopped in front of each other and hugged. I think we both needed it. She told me her husband had gotten on the bus, and she asked if I saw K. I told her I was looking for him, but I hadn't found him. She said he was getting on the first bus, that he was still outside.

I rushed in that direction, and K was there, right at the door. The guy in front of him was climbing on the bus. I wanted to run up and give K one last hug, but he was standing right at the steps, about to get on the bus. I was afraid I'd have just enough time to hug him and he'd have to get on. That wouldn't feel like goodbye.

K saw me standing there watching him. He stuck out his tongue at me and started making goofy faces. I rushed to take a picture of him boarding, but he was already climbing onto the bus.

I stood there with our friend's wife, waiting for the buses to leave. The majority of people seeing the buses off were a few yards away from them. A couple women stood by the buses, reaching their hands up to their husbands who were sitting near the window. A family of a man on the second bus stood below the window where he was seated. The wife picked up each of her two small children one at a time, and she raised them up to the window so their father could kiss them goodbye one last time. Someone brought a chair over to a couple of the women standing by windows so they could kiss their husbands one last time before they left.















My friend and I stood watching all this, trying not to cry and wondering where on that first bus our husbands were. We had been standing there for a good 15 minutes when my friend pointed out that one of the guys on the bus we knew was waving at me. I looked at him, and he waved me toward him. "C@pt. G wants you over there. He's on the other side at the front."

I ran over to the other side of the bus. Sure enough, K was in the very front seat, and he was seated right next to my friend's husband. I ran to the back of the bus and called her over, and we walked together to the front of the bus. I took a quick picture of them.

"I can't believe you two wound up next together!" I said, since I had been waiting with my friend that whole time. K told us the two of them had been the last to get on the bus, so it had worked out that way.















My friend and I had been standing by their window for maybe 15 seconds when the bus driver gave a quick honk to let everyone know they would be leaving soon. My friend reached her hand up to her husband, who was seated by the window. K reached over his friend's head and held his fist out the window for a quick daps. I was sad that was all we had time for, but at the same time, it was appropriate for us -- it was light and fun, and it was exactly what we did when we crossed the finish line together in the MS150. Plus, it's definitely more of an "I'll see you later" move, which is a good vibe to leave with.

As soon as the bus driver put the bus into gear, these two children next to us started screaming and crying for their father. Nearly everyone around us was crying, and it was hard to think about the fact it will be another 15 months before they're really home. We watched until the last of the buses left the parking lot, and we watched them turn onto the street and vanish behind a building. It felt odd, unreal and empty knowing our lives would have to move on for so long without them.















I walked with my friend back to our cars. I was just ready to be home, so I was not looking forward to my five-hour drive. There was some PA-brewed beer left in K's refrigerator, along with some really good chocolates, both of which K's dad and brother had brought down with them for K. I had planned on stopping by to pick them up so they wouldn't just go to waste, but it occurred to me that every time I'd had both of those things had been with K, and I wanted to keep it that way. I turned my car toward home, and I didn't stop the entire drive. I just wanted to be done.

I went through so many emotions so quickly through the drive. First, I felt proud of myself for being so strong that morning. As I stood outside the buses with my friend, I had pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head so K could see I wasn't crying. I wanted him to know I was OK. I was laughing with him when we met them at the front of the bus. He saw those things. That made me feel good.

All of a sudden, I felt hopeful and assured. I just knew that K is going to come home from this deployment safe and sound. I knew we'd both be OK and that it probably will go by pretty quickly. I even felt like I knew the deployment won't last the full 15 months because things will go well and they'll be brought home early.

I thought about K's R&R, which we decided we want to fall after the halfway point in the deployment, which means it'll be sometime in August or September. He'll get 18 days here. We'll spend a week of that time on a trip somewhere -- the Carribean, Mexico, some getaway in Maine ... who knows? -- and probably a week with his family in PA. I was excited for it, but sad at the same time that it feels so far away.

I thought about the length of the deployment. In 15 months, countless babies will be conceived and born. Piper will be full-grown and not even a puppy anymore. I'll be over halfway through age 25. Who knows? I could have wrinkles and gray hair by then (if I do, I'm totally blaming it on the deployment!). (fyi: I do NOT think 25 is old, but some people just don't age as well as others.) K is already losing his hair; he could be completely bald by the time he returns (not that I care, but it's true). In 15 months, people can get engaged, married and divorced. We'll know who wins the Blu-ray/HD DVD war by then. The iPho.ne K wants so badly right now will be outdated, with umpteen billion improvements since the original. Two Christmases will come and go. And two New Years, which is the only holiday we've spent together every year, and even two Valentine's Days (not that I really care too much about that one, but it's another holiday).

So many thing will change from now until then, and whether they're big or small, major or trivial, we won't get to see those changes with one another.

I started to feel jealous of couples who don't have to go through things like this. I felt a little angry at people who don't know what it's like to spend even a week away from their spouse. I felt cheated that we only have weekends together to begin with, but even those are being taken away from us for so long.

I felt guilty for feeling like that. I knew K was in the A.rmy when I met him. I knew this would happen. I'm proud of him for what he's doing.

I went through emotion after emotion, over and over again and in no particular order. Each was spurred by something different each time. Some came without warning.

I tried to distract myself through the drive with phone calls, but in the middle of the day, it's tough to find people who are free. ER called me a couple times on my drive in between projects at work so she could see how I was doing. I talked to my dad, who just listened to me for a while and did a great job of making me feel better.

After talking to a few people on my drive and getting a few unexpected text messages from people who knew what the day marked, I was crying again because I felt so absolutely, amazingly blessed to have such wonderful people in my life. I felt thankful to them and to God for putting them into my life.

I was relieved to find myself getting closer to Dallas. It had just gotten dark, and I was only an hour or so away from the comfort of my own apartment when a movement near the top left corner of my window caught my eye. I looked in the direction of the movement to see a shooting star streaking across the sky. It was one of those shooting stars that actually gives you enough time to make a wish.

The highway in that area is pretty well-lit, so you can only see the brightest stars. I took a good look at the sky, and the same was true for that night. I don't think I've ever, ever, in my more than two and a half years of living here, seen a shooting star anywhere near Dallas. All you can usually see is the glow of the city lights in the sky and flashing bulbs from the dozens and dozens of planes over the city at any given time.

But that movement and that light most definitely came from a shooting star.

I found myself crying again at the realization that my first sighting of a shooting star near Dallas had come at that time. I couldn't let myself write off such a simple, yet so special occurrence as a mere coincidence. And once again, I felt blessed to know there is someone watching over me who knows exactly what I need.