Vignettes

It's that time again, and the bags are packed. His dress uniform hangs from our bedroom door, startling me anew each time I see it, because it looks like a soldier is standing guard. Other bags are already loaded into his car, ready for the long drive to school. Laundry's been done, his side of the sink is cleared, and he's ready.

We're watching one last football game together before he goes, and Little G comes out to say good night. She climbs into his lap for a snuggle, and they are so sweet together I cannot watch. They talk a bit, but I cannot hear them...it's okay. This is their time and it is not for me to hear what is said. This builds them both up for the absence that is to come.

It's dawn, and his side of the bed is empty a full hour before he had set the alarm. I know this dance well; he cannot sleep. I get up, and find he is cutting strawberries for us to share. One last breakfast of the type we've been enjoying these last few weeks between deployment and school. It is precious.The berries are delicious, but my throat is too dry to really enjoy them.

It is still dawn, and I tell him I will go back to sleep. One last kiss, one last view of him as he walks out the door. I don't sleep. Instead, I lay on his pillows and I type, praying for his safety and for time to fly. Then I stop, ashamed. I hate to wish for time to pass more quickly than it already does. There are too few hours in our lives as it is, and to wish them away is sacrilege. Still...I look forward to the moment he comes back in that door. And the bags are unpacked. And I hope Little G is not suddenly too big for a snuggle.

Is it too much to hope that these will still be around
when he's back?