Day One.

Yesterday I watched the larger part of the last seven years of my life drive away in an Army bus, leaning over the back of his seat and waving at us out the window behind him. Mothers and wives were standing around me crying... some sniffling, some sobbing, quite a few outright wailing. And what did I do? I pulled my ponytail out of my hair. Because I realized his looking out the window behind him would be the last time he saw us, physically, in real life, just ten feet away... and I wanted him to remember me with my hair down, the way he loves it.

Walking back to the car I readjusted my shirt and then realized I could have worn something better- like my new dress he bought me- than my black wide-leg lounge pants, which I wear to sleep in fifty percent of the time, and a tee shirt. My mind hadn't been straight that morning- comfort was more important than looking pretty. I'm sure Habibi understood that, though. He knows me.

Chuug sitting on Habibi's ruck.

On the ride home I began to analyze the last 24 hours we'd spent together- wondering if we should have done more or done something else to make our final day more special. Looking back on it, really, it was just another ordinary day with each other. I suppose that's just fine, though. To make it more special would just be more heartbreaking for us than to just exist in our life with each other as we always have. Sleeping in, eating breakfast-for-lunch at IHOP, going to the movies to see Captain America and then having dinner just Habibi and I? Just another Saturday... That's fine. Normal and familiar. We tried staying up as late as we could together, just to have more time.

A few short hours after finally falling asleep, we woke in the dark, dressed and played with Chuug so he'd wake in a sweet mood to go to work with Daddy, despite the early hour. We spent the entire day with Habibi while he cleaned out his locker, packed and dropped off his bags for inspection and did formation; mostly hanging out in the locker room, sprawled out on the floor, playing video games with Chuug on his iPod. One nice surprise was when Chuug and I were called up during final manifest to put Habibi's new SPC rank on his uniform, finally. The kiddo slapped his rank on his chest and I put on his new hat. It was that great little something extra.

When Family Time finally came for us, we didn't talk at all. I sat between Habibi's legs, leaning against his lap and chest while he talked to family members on his cell phone. I think it helped to keep me from crying the most- not having to talk about anything.

Playing games together on the iPod.

I heard them announce something over the intercom, but couldn't make out what was said. I was too busy being off in my own mind, so I missed it. Then I noticed women coupling off with their soldiers, standing in frozen hugs in the middle of the floor. I realized what was happening. How fast our hour flew by... He hung up the phone and held onto us tight, kissing our cheeks and foreheads and whispering in our ears. My eyes didn't swell over until he leaned into me for our last kisses, and my face was wet within moments. I remember thinking how jealous I was of him- how he had no tears in his eyes and his voice didn't break when he spoke to us. I remember wondering if he'd cry after he left. When he finally stood and began walking away from us he looked back, turned right around and came back for more, this time with eyes welling and his voice shaking. I smiled at him and smiled at Chuug so he wouldn't be upset or scared.

We watched the boys go into formation and then march out of the gym to the buses. At first we walked the opposite way, back to the car. But then our friend, Matt, asked "Do you want to watch the buses leave?" I stopped walking and stared at Chuug, waiting for his response. Remembering how loaded the question was from his own deployment, Matt said "I understand if you don't. It's really hard." I really didn't. Really, really didn't want to. But I knew the kiddo would. We turned around and walked back toward the long line of white and blue buses.

We couldn't see him, so we slowly began walking up the line. Then Habibi called from his cell phone and said "I'm in the third bus, in the second window... I see you guys." My heart wanted to explode. He was looking for us. We walked up to the front and there he was, waving out of the window. I could only see him for a moment before my vision blurred. When the buses started up, that's when I realized it was truly the moment. The woman to my left sobbed out loud and girls behind me began sniffling and holding onto each other. I pulled my ponytail out of my hair, so the last time he looked at me he'd see me with my hair down, the way he likes it. As the buses pulled off he leaned over the back of his seat and waved at us out of the window behind him.

When the buses were almost out of sight, I pulled out my phone and sent him an "I love you" text. I think had I yelled it out loud no one could have heard me over everyone else. Once they were gone I turned around to see the crowd of people bawling behind me, holding onto each other and talking to their little ones. I grabbed Chuug's hand and we walked through the crowd of crying women to the car.

When we got back to the house, I made a beeline for the bathroom, locked the door, sat on the toilet and silently bawled to myself. Then I wiped my face, fixed my hair and walked out into the livingroom with our friends. When I sat down on the couch, I immediately felt one giant wave of exhaustion wash over me. Within minutes my phone was ringing with calls and texts, and I felt even more exhausted.

I have a firm belief that when one goes through some sort of traumatic or sad situation such as this, there should be a 48 hour waiting period- just as police issue a 48 hour waiting period before filing for missing persons. If you don't hear from me after 48 hours, then bombard me with calls, texts, e-mails and IMs. But in those hours, the first few especially, I'd just like to be alone with my thoughts, taking time to adjust. I know the messages and calls are well-meaning, but to some- to me- it's like salt in a fresh wound. I don't like crying with people around... I don't want to emotionally explode over the phone, either. I just keep thinking (and even saying out loud every time the phone rings) GO AWAAAY! PLEASE JUST LET ME FREAK OUT FOR A WHILE! 

A few hours after we'd returned home, Habibi called from the airport. The flights had been delayed. So we talked- we talked about how Chuug handled everything, talked about the whole day we'd just had. My heart strings tugged so hard when he told me he kept telling himself I wouldn't have wanted to watch the buses leave, but he still looked for us anyway. I told him how much I loved him.

The rest of the day disappeared quickly. Not necessarily a good thing. My most dreaded fear with this deployment was the first night alone. The first night realizing that he didn't walk through the door after work, he didn't throw his dirty uniform on the bed and he isn't here fighting over the good pillow with me. When the time came to climb into bed, Chuug cried for Daddy, as I knew he would and also dreaded. I crawled in beside him to hold him and, after an hour or so, he fell asleep. I, however, was not so lucky. I laid there, staring into the dark, listening to the silence. After a while, the silence itself began to sound like this long, loud, droning noise. I climbed out of bed to dig out the new, unopened bottle of Melatonin Habibi had bought me before he left (I admit, I doubled the maximum dosage) and within minutes I was finally gone.

An hour later I was startled from my sleep by Habibi's ringtone...

"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you, 
and remember I'll always be true...

And then while I'm away, I'll write home every day... 
and I'll send all my loving to you."

He was calling! Calling to tell me they'd made it safely to Checkpoint A and were about to depart for Checkpoint B. I cannot hardly remember any of the conversation now (eff you, Melatonin), but I do remember beginning to cry when he said "This is it. This is the last time I'll be calling you from my phone." I realized that he was right. I wouldn't be hearing his song for a very, very long time.

I don't remember the conversation ending. I don't remember telling him goodbye, or if I even did. I almost thought maybe I'd fallen asleep on the phone, but it was back on the bedside table when I woke which led me to believe I had to have consciously said goodbye or goodnight. I wish I remembered it.

I woke feeling happy this morning that he'd called in the middle of the night, but within my first hour of waking I moved into numbness. And here I've been all day, migrating back and forth between my bed and the couch; trying to keep snuggled and warm, attempting to comfort myself in the most simplest of ways I can find.

This is Day One.

Deployment 365: Day 1
You can tell how the first day went...