the d-word: deployment thoughts [part 8]

 

This is the last post about my family's pre-deployment experience. The series started at the beginning of the year. Each post--and the mini posts within each--contains my thoughts on the deployment process as or soon after various events occurred. For OPSEC purposes, I will not include specific dates, locations, etc. Alan has read each one and his thoughts are included in certain posts. I hope that these posts will shed some light on our experiences; thank you for reading and God bless!

Read previous pre-deployment thoughts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6

The Day He Left

He was gone too quickly.

The day he left, we arrived early because he needed to take colored tape. Everyone was supposed to identify their bags with colored tape. Basically everyone did not identify their bags with colored tape.

I stood around, watching and waiting and occasionally losing him ten yards away from me because when his back is turned and everyone dresses the same, it's sometimes hard to recognize him. I was usually able to spot him because someone was asking him a question.

I waited a lot. And we waited a lot. And our friends came to see him off. I'm so grateful that we have such supportive and loving friends.

Seeing him with a weapon was not unnerving, as I expected that it would be. The unnerving part was watching some people try to figure out how to put straps on their weapons.


At some point, a woman from the FRG handed a little flag to me. I remember thinking that I wanted my husband, not a flag, and I didn't understand the point but I took it, anyway.

Toward the end, I was chatting with another lady when I happened to glance down the field and realized that everyone but Alan's company was listening to a speech by the sergeant major. I was disappointed that we missed the speech, but when the buses began to load and Alan's company was still in the arms room, I decided that if I had to stand around and wait, I might as well be with him. I guiltily rushed off to find my husband while everyone else's husbands boarded the buses.

Keeping the tears at bay while walking from the arms room to the bus was difficult. I held his arm and I was secretly, guiltily, glad that he was late as we walked to the last bus--all of the others were full and the families had already been separated.

And then we separated because he had to get his bags. Amidst the calls to get on the bus and hurry up, we managed to meet up again and steal a quick kiss--it was nothing like what I was expecting; it was too brief and too unfeeling to be the culmination of an entire morning of waiting, but it was a kiss and then he disappeared up the steps.

We waved and waited for a few more minutes before the buses finally began to pull away. As the buses disappeared around the corner and the noise died away, the parking lot was filled with silence and then the held-in-for-too-long sniffles and crying of those left behind. It was heart wrenching and horrible but wonderful to know that I was not the only one. I sat in my car in the parking lot for at least half an hour and watched as other soldiers went about their day as though they had no idea that an entire unit had just left their families for a year (and they were probably going about their day as though they had no idea because they had no idea).

I debated about whether I should go home or call my friend and ask if I could visit. In the end, I went home and discovered a huge Hello Kitty balloon and chest on the kitchen table, along with a bottle of wine, some Hello Kitty pajamas, After Eight chocolate mints, and some notes from friends with instructions to wear the pajamas, watch a movie, drink the wine, cry, and then come to home life group that night if I felt up to it.

It was odd to go to home life group without Alan even though I know it will, at some point, become normal. I drank coffee and wasn't tired afterward so I went on post and parked at Alan's unit. I decided to go for a run--I ran 3.21 miles.