Goodbyes.

My husband of a month and a week leaves tomorrow. I pray that it is not the last time I will see him before he steps out of my life for awhile, but I don't put anything past the military. Sometimes I wonder how many goodbyes we could have in less than a year. The uncontainable happiness that I felt a mere 3 weeks ago at having him by my side everyday has been suddenly replaced by an awkward numbness that I know will instantly wear off when he drives away from my house leaving me alone in a puddle of despair. Dramatic? No, truth.

Before Brian joined the Army, I didn't really have any experiences with goodbyes. I never really had a long distance relationship and I surely never had to say goodbye to my one true love for months at a time not knowing when I would hear his voice again. I have learned a few things over the last 6 or so months about how I handle goodbyes. First, I ignore the impending departure. I refuse to clutter my mind with thoughts of sad times. Maybe if I think about it too long, it will get here sooner. Then, for the few days before he leaves, I get numb. I'm definitely not happy, but I'm not overly sad. I know what is about to happen is depressing, and in my head, I am sad, but I never cry. I don't have any tears. Finally, he is packed up and ready to hit the road. That's when I lose it. Out of nowhere I am a blubbering idiot trying usually unsuccessfully to hold it together. I hate it when this happens. I don't want his last image of me to be of tears streaming down my face. After that I usually call my mom thinking I've pulled myself together enough to talk to someone. As soon as she says "hello" I break down all over again. Those times have been some of the most depressing for me. I bounce back, I always do, but I am so all-consumingly sad when he leaves. My world gets turned upside down.

The goodbyes keep getting harder. There is a chance - hopefully a small chance - that tomorrow morning will be the last time I see his beautiful face, touch his warm skin, smell his unique scent before he leaves for Iraq. I don't know where he'll be or what he'll be doing. I don't even know when I'll talk to him or if I can. I don't know what to send, what he needs. I don't know how to be a single married woman. I don't know what is and isn't allowed in care packages. I don't know how we'll communicate. I don't know if he'll be safe. I just don't know.

Because I am still in school, I still classify time by semesters. This fall semester of 2007 will go down in the history books as the most trying semester of my education, of my life thus far. I wish I had the option of laying in bed for a few days after Brian is gone. I wish I could hide from the world. But I can't. I have to make sure I pass so I can graduate. I have to get my ring, go to Dallas, write a paper, present a book report, observe, etc., etc. It never ends. This Christmas will be painfully bittersweet.

I have learned from the Army that one of the most precious things to me is knowing where Brian is. Right now he's in Potosi, tomorrow he'll drive 8 hours to Fort Polk. When he gets there he'll go through the gate, park his truck, walk up those 2 flights of stairs, open his door, say hi to Westover, put his stuff down, talk to me, and go to sleep. Most people take for granted that they know what their loved ones are doing, what they usually do. I fear the day when I don't know, when I can't know.

I miss him already and he's not even gone. I will think about him every moment and pray for him every night. I hope that life works out for us the way we have planned. I pray. I hope. Pray. Hope.