I woke up today and as is my rather obsessive custom, grabbed my laptop to check email and social media. The first thing I saw was a Facebook notice from my oldest. It said simply “Daddy’s home.” When I read it, the breath I didn’t realize I was holding came out in a big whoosh and tears of joy streamed down my face.
Home in Virginia after a few excruciatingly long months in Afghanistan. Those simple words convey so much.
Those are the words that rattle around in my head, heart and soul each time I see one of these messages or see him when he comes down to L.A.
His government job has him going there more often than when he was in the military. He doesn’t have some cushy civilian life there. It’s dangerous and he is often in harm’s way. He still serves his country, though in another capacity. Whenever I mention my worry, his comment to me is always, “Aw mom, you know I love this shit.” These are just words to dispel the worry of a mother. Something to make me feel better. Yes, he’s this gung-ho type of guy, but still. I worry. I think about odds. I get more grey hair and another furrow in my forehead as I calculate times he’s been there and wonder if this time he will come back. I push such thoughts away whenever they creep in and go about my daily life, holding a breath I don’t realize I’m holding, saying a silent prayer every moment, and willing him to come home safely with all my being. I hope, I pray, I love, I worry. I live for days like today.
Today rocks. I’ll breathe deep. Relax and bask in the knowledge that he is home safe and see him soon when he comes down to visit.
He might return soon. I know that, but today I’ll just breathe.