The Final Days

As a military brat, we celebrated the two-digit midget days when we got to go home after an overseas PCS. No matter how you adapted to the country you were sent to, there's nothing like 'home' even if home ends up being an assignment in a new state. The point is, being stateside. So, to celebrate P.'s recent step into the digit midget realm, I bring you a walk through memory lane. Feel free to stop reading here ;)

Again, the bookends of memory. P. leaving for three months 15 years ago, off to the never-ending stress of Parris Island. And then this year, three months overseas in a high conflict area. With both, he had long hours, but we have done our best to be in daily contact. In '92, I wrote to him daily and cherished every letter I got back. This time, thanks to the internet, we haven't just had phone calls when he can fit them in and care packages winging their way to him from us, but email and IMs. Even better, the pictures we've been able to send back and forth. How wonderful it's been for him to be able to go to YouTube and see our kids, hear them talking to him and feel more of a part of their daily lives.

Just like I was reminded of the goodbye 15 years ago, so I am thinking of the hello. As the summer waned in '92, I was in contact with his mom, making plans to drive to SC. One of his uncles would drive his van. We'd all ride together and stay in a hotel. I remember his mom giving me a Mary Kay makeover- so NOT me. Showing me the clothes she bought him for his second year in college (even then, I knew the white jeans were SO not him).

The first glimpse of him, right up in front of his platoon, just behind the guidon bearer (is that what USMC calls it? I dunno, it's what my title was when I did the same thing in AF JROTC).


I held back and let his mom be the first to greet him. But when I hugged him, I never wanted to let go. I worried about that darn Mary Kay makeup rubbing off on his uniform. I felt like I was wearing a mask.


I remember watching his confirmation into the Catholic faith. The actual graduation ceremony, I can't remember much. I do remember thinking this is what the ceremonies we 'played' at with JROTC looked like when they were real. I remember sitting in the heat, being impatient with every moment of military pomp and ceremony that kept us apart. His gifts of a necklace and a pin with the stoic USMC boot camp official picture on them.

I remember the ride home, running my hand over his thigh, leaning against him, just soaking him in.

Going out to a date at the local Pizza Hut that night, his ex-girlfriend was our waitress. I couldn't believe the gall of her afterwards, calling him over and trying to rub up on him, purring who knows what. Funny if you think about it, since his most burning memory of her was finding her in the closet in flagrante delicto with one of his closest friends at the time. He all but laughed in her face this time and walked away.

He shared with me the picture he carried in his hat the entire 13 weeks. It should have been confiscated, but when his DI found it, the DI pretended he didn't see it. It's in our scrapbook now, but you can see the remnants of its time at Parris Island:


Now, not knowing the exact time yet, and knowing he has to take care of the business of coming back after a extended assignment, such as getting his car out of 'storage', I don't know what to expect- even less so than in '92. Will he be home in time before the kids go to sleep and we can celebrate as a family? Or will he be home after they are in bed and we can have a few precious hours of just us? The dog is the only one not expecting him back. She stopped looking up at the sound of cars after a few weeks. Such an unexpected surprise will send her into new heights of spastic running in circles, I am sure.

But what of me? What will I be feeling after all we have been through in these months? The ups and downs and tears and promises? Will I feel like I am wearing a mask yet again? Or will I let myself feel the joy and relief that is sure to flow through the door in his wake?

Happy Birthday P.!

Another year older. We have both changed so much since we were 18. It would be a shame if we didn't.

Chatting with P. last night, he had a bad headache. A Bree migraine he called it. But still, he chatted with me about family stuff until the wee hours because he said it made him feel better and forget the pain. He was also sweet enough to comfort me with all my roadblock issues mentioned in the previous posting. Suddenly, as we were saying goodnight I realized it was his birthday where he is.

How things have changed.

Here's a pic of me giving him a gift the first birthday we spent together, the big one-nine. Sorry for the quality, it's a pic of the one in our scrapbook, it's also 15yrs old.

I bought him a Victorinox Swiss Army knife. He had bought a $10 imitation that of course tarnished before he had it a month and, going by my Boompa's belief that buying the good stuff once is better than buying the cheap stuff multiple times, I saved up and bought him a real Swiss Army knife.


Know your family is thinking of you, loving you and praying for your safety P. We're eagerly awaiting your homecoming (more 'vintage' P. and Bree pics when that draws nearer).

We'll have a cake and celebration when you get home.

Old emotions return

Early in the summer of '92, I said goodbye to P. I remember standing on the chair in the dorm lobby, just looking into his eyes, wanting the moment to last forever. I was set to spend the summer working in a factory earning money so I could return to college the next year. He was off to 13 weeks of boot camp. I just wanted to hold on and not let go.

This weekend, I was taken back to that time. The kids were in bed, I was sleepy too. But I knew I had mere hours left until P. was to leave for an extended period- again, 3mos.

I sat on his lap and looked into his eyes. Suddenly, almost 15yrs melted away and I was that 18yo again looking at her 18yo beau, missing him before he was even gone. All the wrongs we had done each other disappeared. We were just two kids, in love.

Again, I have long hours to think of him. Where before it was standing at the controls of a factory machine, my mind wandering, now it's staying at home with the kids, trying to keep my mind on task. I worry about his safety and well-being again. I long to connect with him, as I have almost every day for the last 15yrs. Here's the person I have literally spent my entire adult life with, no matter the problems, arguments, heartbreak...there's a connection there.

Most of you know we are having problems, contributed some by my ongoing depression and some by his own issues. Being apart makes those problems harder and easier. I dwell on them, yet I feel like there is a reason we are so strongly connected. The ache of being apart reminds me of one of my favorite moments in Jane Eyre:

Rochester tells Jane of his feelings of her pending departure:

"'I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you--especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you--you'd forget me.'
Chapter 23, pg. 221

If only those feelings were so easy to live through. If only the forgetting was so easy. At least this time I have my kids to share my love with. They have given me more smiles and snapped me out of the doldrums more often than I care to admit.

Walking through the gentle autumn day, so many sensations float past me. I'm infused with a sense of happiness for the moment. As I lift my daughter to my shoulders, it hits me again that I am the grownup. My time of the heady joy of someone sweeping you along, higher than the world on their shoulders is long past. Instead of regretting that it didn't happen often enough, I smiled at the thought of carrying my children high so they could reach for the clouds.

As I turn the corner, the acrid sent of burning leaves fills my nostrils. I'm reminded of an assignment from my 9th grade English teacher, Mrs. Evans. One of the options was to describe newly mown grass. I chose the simpler task of describing the state I had lived in the longest until then, California. But now, I understand. I'm still not sure how I would describe freshly mown grass, but I would describe the smouldering smell of the leaves as chances gone. The smell of burning leaves still swirling through my senses, another familiar smell pushed its way in. The smell of fresh laundry, hot in the dryer. The smell of promise and futures. Preparing for the days ahead with crisp clothes, comforting to all of your senses.

The sharp smell of the leaves, while not unpleasant, served its purpose. It made me appreciate the clean smell of laundry all the more. The two smells swirled about for awhile, then disappeared. The memories stay for much longer though.

mix tapes

So when we were young, the thing to do was make mix tapes. I remember taping directly from the radio, pausing between songs, trying not to have duplicates. As I got older, they became jokes, "What, you made him a mix tape?" *sneer*

Now, in these days of technology, we make mix CDs, or possibly mix iPod playlists. Gone are the days of going through tapes, syncing up and trying to rewind those three seconds to make it perfectly timed.

A friend of mine recently made me a couple of mix CDs. I listened to them, now and then reading a bit of the notes she sent along with them. Today was the first day I listened all the way through, reading the entire letter. Let's just say I am glad I was having a strong day. Her life and mine had parallels, we've thought and felt the same things. It's funny how music speaks to people and creates a pocket of a memory you can call up at a few notes. Some of the songs totally made me feel the same way. Others, I had strong memories of my own.

"Losing my Religion" will always be a parody song to me. In our HS, we had the requisite high achiever. He happened to hook up with one of the 'easy' girls. Rumor had it that one night he lost his virginity to her. Then spent an hour in the shower trying to wash everything off to assure he didn't catch anything from her (no word on what she felt about this post-coital sterilization attempt). So, among my friends, the song lyrics, "That's me in the shower. That's me in the spotlight, losing my virginity. Trying to wash the stank of you...but I don't know if I could do it..." became almost as popular as the song.

I'm glad I had those moments to make me smile, because just knowing my friend cared so much, that she knew I hurt often, that my self-esteem is so low, that I need to take care of myself more, it made me cry in a bittersweet way. I knew I wasn't calling out into the darkness with nobody hearing. There is someone there who cares.