Saw this elsewhere, feel free to discuss.
The Walk of the Soldier's Wife
By: Angi Sandy
It's a cold February night. The last night. Sometime in the early morning a bus will arrive and take him to an "undisclosed" location where he'll board a plane. That plane will take him far away from the loving safety of our family and home to a hostile country. But I'll think about that later...
Right now we walk, holding hands as we stroll around the sprawling, red brick barricks of Fort Jackson. We don't talk much, only listen to the night sounds together much like we did one night years ago in college...the night he told me he loved me.
My heart is breaking inside, but I don't let it show. A soldier's wife is strong. She knows her husband's well-being depends on her ability to be in control of their home, their children, her emotions.
So how do I tell him good-bye not knowing when, or if, I'll see him again? How do I tell him how afraid I am? How much I'll miss him? How do I say all this without falling apart?
We haven't just begun our lives--we've built them together for over seventeen years. I can finish his sentences; he can finish mine. I know him as well as I know my own reflection in the mirror--the way his brow furrows when he's puzzled or upset, that silly grin he gets when he's pulling someone's leg, that oh-so-serious expression he wears when he needs to discuss an important issue.
My mind can't deal with those thoughts right now. I block them out--instead trying to focus on the sights and sounds around me. Laughing soldiers with excited youthful faces. The crunching of black boots on gravel. The old brick barracks. The twisting sidewalk on which we walk. The smell of my husband's cologne.
We walk in time and tune together, side-by-side, our steps matching-his smaller to accomodate mine, mine a little larger to accomodate his. A gait perfected over the years we've shared.
As we walk, I mentally prepare myself for the moment I have to say good-bye and sacrifice my happiness for the sake of my country and for one on the other side of the world. Selfish thoughts blaze through my aching head. I don't know anyone in Iraq. Why should my family, my world, be torn apart for the sake of people who mean nothing to me? Many here don't support this war. Why should my chilren risk losing their father for an unwanted war?
Despite my raging thoughts, we continue to walk. Our silence to him is companionable--a silence born of years of just enjoying each other's company. He has no idea that my silence is of necessity. One word from my mouth will bring forth all my pent-up fears, my anguish, my anger.
We've walked a complete circle around his barracks. Numbness sets in. I walk woodenly--left, right, left, right--thinking that if I focus on something as mundane as walking that I can get through this.
The dreaded time has come. I have to go. Our walk ends at my van in the parking lot. Time, rather than prolonging itself, runs out.
In a few minutes, I'll climb in that van, drive down the interstate, and go home without him. I'll put on my pajamas, brush my teeth, and crawl in my bed alone. His side will be empty. No more late night secrets, no more dreaming together.
Shutting my mind to those thoughts, we say our good-byes. Whispering a few "be carefuls", several "I'll miss yous", and many "I love yous", I promise to be here waiting for him. A kiss, not of passion but far more tender, and then an embrace. I hug him tightly, trying to absorb him into me as if it will protect him.
One more "I love you", then the dam breaks, the tears flood, and my resolve to be strong lands in a puddle at my feet. I tell him I can't do this, that I'm not strong enough. He patiently assures me that I can and I am. Is his belief in me enough? I release him.
I take one final look at him, so handsome in his desert uniform, trying to burn this moment into my memory. If love can be a shield--a protector--he certainly goes to war armored by mine.
The tears help. Anger, selfishness subside. In their place rests a sense of resignation as well as a sense of pride. I raise my chin in determination. I'll give him to my country, but my country must eventually give him back to me--whole, complete, alive.
The final step is to my van. I climb inside. He closes the door, and I roll down the window. One more kiss. Then he steps back away from my van.
I tell him good-bye. Then I start the engine and drive away
