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.”