Avoiding the Inevitable

December 10, 2007 may have been one of the worst experiences I have ever been through. Nothing can truly prepare you for the day your soldier leaves, especially if it is the first deployment you have experienced. Hubby and I left the house around 5am to get to post so they could start getting everything ready so they could leave by 11. I'm not sure getting to hang out on base with them all morning was the best idea. It was almost delaying the inevitable. The morning was heavy. Heavy with tears, nerves and uncertainty. Sure enough 11 came faster than I thought possible and the rumble of buses echoed in the distance, louder and louder until they turned the corner, resting across the quad. Three big, blue school buses. I knew the day would be hard, but there is nothing that can prepare you for the amount of emotion that fills your gut. Hubby tried to convince me to leave early so he could say goodbye to me, instead of him leaving me there alone. I just couldn't do it. I wanted to see his face for as long as possible.

Then it was time. He had to leave, he had to say goodbye for fifteen months. I remember touching his face one last time, to feel its realness, to remember it's texture. He kissed me one last time and turned to go. My heart sank. I felt alone, empty, heartbroken. I looked around at all the families, wives, girlfriends, children, mothers and fathers. These are the people that are left behind. Everyone clinging to one another, hoping for one last glance, one last wave, something, anything to remember. There I was, arms around a fellow Army wife, tears streaming down our faces. The blue buses started, the breaks hissed, they rolled away honking their horns as they departed. There I was, arms around a fellow Army wife, tears streaming down our faces, we turned to each other, "What now?" she asked. I shrugged. "Yeah, What now?" I thought. And as simple as that, they were gone.