Our Journey #3: To Iraq

Once again, we squeezed every moment of quality time we could into the ten days we had with Braden before he left overseas. The day his unit left, we gathered with family at the armory, along with all the other soldiers and their loved ones. We sat in the gym, visiting and trying to ignore the clock as it ticked ever closer to the time we would officially say goodbye. Braden gave special attention to our baby girl, who was feeling slightly fussy and wanted us all to go home. Oh how I understood and agreed with her.

The buses pulled up and the soldiers began loading their duffle bags. Braden and I both felt so weary of goodbyes. We weren't sure if our hearts could handle any more, but, as always, we did what had to be done. All the soldiers hugged and kissed their loved ones and loaded the bus. I remember watching Braden's every movement as he loaded his bag and walked around the front of the bus. I remember squinting through the tinted bus windows, trying to make him out through the muted, identical shapes of buzz cut heads. The buses left with a fanfare of firetrucks and police cars with sirens wailing. I know it was meant to be a salute, but it felt so morose and I couldn't help thinking of the events those sounds are usually connected with: disaster, destruction, and death.

We watched until the buses turned the corner out of sight, then loaded ourselves into our vehicles and headed home. We talked very little, and, though I felt like my soul was being ripped in two with one half of me heading clear around the world, I was also so grateful I was going home to a place where loved ones surrounded me to support and lift me up. So many spouses were heading home alone, or with a brood of children to care for all on their own. I had no reason to complain or feel sorry for myself. Thousands of wives had done this same thing, some of them multiple times, and I very likely had more resources and support than most of them. If they could do this, I certainly could. And I could do it with a happy heart, a smile on my face, and the knowledge that someday, this would all just be a memory to look back on and learn from. I knew that someday, God-willing, Braden would be home again in my arms and the war would be over.

Armed with this attitude, my faith, and the support of so many around me, I faced this challenge head-on, striving to fight my daily battles with as much courage as my soldier did on the other side of the world. "One day closer" became my motto. I chose not to look at how many more days of separation lay ahead of us, but how many we had put behind us. I involved Daddy in our lives as much as possible, talking about him to our little girl and helping her remember him in her life and her prayers each day, Every week, I sent him a care package filled with goodies, pictures, and a DVD burned from our video camera of the mundane, regular, silly-life things that I knew he would be missing.

We spoke on the phone about every other day, and were frequently able to get online and chat between phone calls. It was another gratitude-inducing experience to appreciate modern technologies and realize how much more difficult it had been in previous years without the advantage of long-distance phone calls, email chats, and Skype.

We moved on like this, one day at a time, looking for the good things, making plans to look forward to, awaiting the day we could be together again.