Wil was home 86 days before deploying again. He was trying to remember how many deployments he has done. He thinks this is number 19. I think it might be number 20. Regardless, it is too many.
I dread the thought of Wil being away AGAIN. On his last deployment, in addition to my sadness and loneliness, so many things broke or went awry. This time, he has worked so hard for the last month installing new things and fixing things and doing maintenance on things to try to prevent a repeat of last time. So, the pond filter is redone, the doors have been replaced with new ones, the porches are tiled--front and back, everything is trimmed and grouted and caulked, there's a new ceiling fan in the living room, the pond lights are replaced, new bulbs are in many places, the sprinkler system is turned off for the winter, the lawn has been mowed for last time, the outdoor things are winterized, all the timers are checked and set, and enough bug killer has been applied to our lawn to make us eligible for the Super Fund. So, hopefully, everything will be okay.
Today was sad. I was sad for me. But, even though I was sad for myself, it was much worse for others. When we first arrived at Wil's squadron, we went upstairs to get Wil's written orders from the civilian guy in charge of mobility. In his cubicle, a female flight engineer was slumped in the corner crying. Wil asked if she was okay. She could only nod as the tears poured silently down her face. The civilian guy was retired Air Force. He said, "I was in for 23 years and deployments never got any easier." After we walked out, Wil told me that the crying engineer has young children and would be away from them over the holidays. While Wil's deployment has a possibility of being shorter, she is going to a different location and hers is nearly guaranteed to be the full 90 days.
Then Wil told me that he would have switched with her, if he could have. The compassionate side of me wished he could have and gotten her back to her children sooner. The selfish side of me was happy that he couldn't trade with her, so I might get him back earlier. In any case, seeing her cry made tears well up in my eyes, but I managed to keep them from spilling. We saw her later, still red-eyed, but calm. I realized she had come to the base earlier than everyone else so that she would have time to cry and compose herself before time to go.
I watched so many young families. I watched men in their desert uniforms cradling babies in their arms or bouncing toddlers on their knees while young wives watched sadly. They were hugging their children and kissing their babies knowing how much their children would grow and change in their absence. I ached for them, knowing I had it much better without children to raise alone in Wil's absence.
I stayed with Wil until he had to board his bus. That last hug and kiss was difficult. It was so hard to let him go. It's the most wrenching feeling when I loosen my hold and let him walk away. I hugged a support post on the outdoor porch area of the building and watched Wil and the guys board the bus. I waited until he was seated by the window and we could give one more wave and I could blow one more kiss. Then I turned and walked away. Every step was difficult.
When I got to the parking lot, I could see the top of Wil's bus over the fence as it pulled away. Other wives were leaving, too, strapping kids into car seats. The young children were oblivious to the sadness of the occasion, but all of us wives were very somber.
I was weepy on the drive home, but not really sobbing...until I passed a church with a changeable sign announcing an upcoming musical called, "I'll Be Home for Christmas." Knowing that Wil will not be home for Christmas made me break down and sob when I read the sign. The moment passed, but the tears kept falling.
The hardest part of Wil's leaving, next to actually letting him go after that last hug, is coming home to an empty quiet house. Fortunately, my wonderful son was home this time, waiting for me with hugs and margaritas and really good chocolate. We got a pizza, settled in on the couch with our goodies, and watched an old Rock Hudson/Gina Lollabrigida movie.
Now I'm writing. Talking and writing make me feel better, not good, but better. People who have never done it have no idea how hard it is to send a loved one go off to war. What I hear from people all the time is "Three months isn't that long, at least it's not a year" and "At least you had him home for Thanksgiving." Those things do not make me feel better. It's like people are trying to say that my sadness isn't valid and I'm not grateful for the things I have. I'd much rather people validate my feelings with nothing more than "I'm so sorry Wil has to be away."
Sigh. I have a feeling I'll be blogging often while Wil is away. So, if you are interested, stay posted.
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