What a Year Looks Like

“A year!”
My seven year old responded immediately to my husband explaining to our four children that he was being deployed to serve our country in Iraq and would be gone for at least 12 months.

Hugging her father’s arm and studying the kitchen table, she listened as he shared about his mission and the importance of all of us being brave.

Finally she spoke.

“I’ll be eight and a half when I see you again, Daddy.”
“That’s right, honey,” my husband said.
“I’ll be in 3rd grade.”
“I guess so,” he said, trying to be nonchalant for her sake.

Things started to click.

“You’ll miss Christmas.”
“And Easter.”
“You won’t be here for brother’s birthday.”
“Or Mom’s”
“Or anybody’s.”

What could we say? She was right. Tears started to flow around the table. Three hundred sixty-five dinners without Dad. At least fifty-two Saturdays without his famous crepes for breakfast. Twelve months with no good-night kisses.

“I’ll miss you, Dad.” She squeezed my husband hard.
“I’ll miss you too.” He squeezed back.

Neither my husband nor I could speak, fearing we would totally lose it in front of our children. It took our 15-year-old son to turn things around.

“You know, I bet Dad will be able to get email.”

“Will you Dad?” she asked excitedly.

Still not trusting his voice, my husband nodded.

“But I don’t know how to do email,” my daughter said, sadness creeping back into her voice.

Making the leap from adolescence to adulthood, our teen said to his little sister, “I’ll teach you.”

And that’s what the next year will be, 365 days of looking for the positive, learning from each other, and leaning on those who surround us, with hopes of being stronger and better in the end.

Normal Interupted

He let me babble on about the days’ events. Relishing in some positive feedback I received regarding a writing project, I didn’t even notice the somberness in my husband’s eyes until he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“I’ve been mobilized.”
“You’ve been what?”
“Mobilized.”

I understood the term. My husband spent almost eight years in active military service before starting up his own business over a decade ago. After 9/11 he joined the Reserves. “It’s the least I can do,” he said at the time.

I knew what the word “mobilized” meant. But this was the first time I knew what the word felt like. Mouth dry, heart pounding, I could only utter one word sentences.

“When?”
“Less then a month.”
“Where?”
“Iraq.”
“How long?”
“Six months to a year.”
(We found out later that week that he would be gone over a year.)

I closed my eyes. My brain refused to comprehend what our normal suburban family life would look like with dad gone. Our four kids adore their father. How would they deal with his absence? What about my husband’s business? What about us? What about him?

I opened my eyes to meet those of the man I had been married to for over twenty years. Waiting for my response, his gaze never left my face. I swallowed the fear that threatened to spew out of me.

“I’m proud of you,” I said after a few minutes.
He smiled relief.
“We can do this,” I reassured both of us.
“I know we can,” he answered.
Then only as best friends can do, we finished the thought together, “One day at a time.”