He's leaving next week.
We will load up the car with his bags and belongings and with churning stomach I will drive him to his squadron, trying not to cry.
With trembling chin and tear-blurred sight I will put my arms around his neck one last time and press my face into his chest as my tears overflow my lids and dampen his shirt. Words will be whispered, lips will meet...and I will have to let him go and walk away. I won't look back. I can't. Lessons learned tell me that looking back is a fatal error.
He will stand on the sidewalk and watch as I walk to the car. Once I'm in, and the engine is started, then I'll look up at him...and he'll blow me a kiss and mouth 'I love you'....and then I'll cry in earnest. I'll try to smile, but only manage a grimace that's neither sad not hapy, just a twisted charicature of myself.
I'll come home and wander through the house, touching his things, trying to hang on to his recent presence...trying to hear his echo. Trying to preserve any sign that he was once there, no matter how small.
This is a scenario that's too familiar for me, and for hundreds of thousands of my sisters in arms. This is the reality of deployments for us...the lonliness, the aching, desperate lonliness that nothing except the presence of your spouse can ease. This is the other side of the military coin...the antidote to the bravery and glory of war.
Another 7 years of this.....only another 7 years.....