The subtle sound of the door clicking
shut behind us pierced the silence of the darkness and echoed through the crisp
morning air. I shuddered: it sounded so final. Not a word spoken, we climbed in
the car and left. He flipped the windshield wipers on to clear away the
condensation that accumulated over the night. The fog was dense, our headlights
illuminating the clouds of white. The windshield was dry now, but he mindlessly
left the wipers on…. squeak…squeak…squeak. I remembered that this was the first
quirk I pinpointed in him when we were dating and forced a smile in my heart. I
kept it to myself, and filed it away in my secret collection of idiosyncrasies
that only I know about him. Squeak…squeak…
Tears boiled and stung my eyes,
taunting and threatening to fall. I commanded them to simmer, swallowing hard
and blinking them back. I replayed the evening before in my head: how JJ had
set up 3 different board games to play with him – the one special activity he
wanted to do with Daddy before he left… how he said goodnight to Christian,
“I’ll see ya in two months, buddy.”… how Christian just melted into me, taggy
in hand, thumb in mouth, eyes heavy – I wondered if Christian would miss him or
even realize he was gone … how I watched through the video camera as he
recorded a message to our boys in case he didn’t come home … how the restless
baby boy in my belly kicked him relentlessly as we settled snug under our
sheets … and how I drifted off giving sweet tickles on his back, just praying
to always remember how his skin felt –
on the off chance this would be the last night I touched him. Recalling
these events in the car that morning, I was sick that I hadn’t held him with
two months worth of intensity the whole night. I could no longer hold back my
tears. The first one fell and then the silent steady steam flowed. I stared out
the window, hoping he wouldn’t notice. I wanted him to think I was strong, and
have confidence that I would be ok, that I could handle this with grace. “It’s
only two months,” I told myself. But myself snapped back sharply, “Yeah, two
months of war, how’s that for uncertainty?”
We continued to the base, very few
idle words uttered, tying up loose ends. The security forces officer at the
gate glanced at his ID and waved us through, “Have a good day, Major” Have a
good day? Is this guy oblivious? Has
anyone given this guy a heads up on what’s going on? Is ‘have a good day’ the
best he could do? I smirked to
myself and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, dismissing him as
being totally uninformed.
We parked, went into the squadron to
pick up the rest of his gear, loaded it in our vehicle and dropped it off to be
packed on the plane. We drove a few yards away and spent our last few minutes
together before we parted. He leaned over to kiss me. My heart ached so badly
and my tears sought and found their way to our lips instantly. I kissed him
with every ounce of love I had in me. “What now?” I mustered, pulling away only
slightly. He smiled, “We sit here and talk for 9 more minutes before I have to
go.” I glanced at the clock- 6:21.
So for the next 9 minutes we kissed,
he kissed and lectured the baby in my belly, I giggled and we exchanged words
that I’m sure we both wished were more profound under the circumstances. I
meant it with all my heart when I told him that I never knew I was capable of
loving another person so much, and I knew he meant it when he said he felt the
same way and that it was everything he’d hoped it would be. He, being the “big
picture” person in our relationship, reminded me that years from now we’d look
back at this experience and realize that it made us appreciate one another
more, love one another, grow fonder…. We sat in silence for a few short moments
and then got out of the car. I hesitated to wrap my arms around him
because I dreaded letting go. I held on tight to him instead for as long as I
thought was healthy. I told him I loved him. I’m sure he said it back, or maybe
even first. We pulled away, he smiled, I murmured something about letting me
know when he landed in the next city. He smiled again and nodded and turned
around and began walking away. I climbed in the car, finally able to release my
tears freely, and drove away.
As I passed all the unsuspecting homes
just before sunrise that morning, I imagined all the ordinary lives that were
being lived in them. I imagined alarms going off, coffee brewing, men getting
ready for work and children dressing for school. I became smug and proud,
knowing that it is partly because of my husband that they have freedom to live
those ordinary lives; that in the grand scheme of things, they slept safe in
their homes the morning I let him go, because of what I let him go to do.
